


Reunited

by FrayAdjacentTX



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2020-06-27 17:57:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 58,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19796062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrayAdjacentTX/pseuds/FrayAdjacentTX
Summary: Did Daenerys stay dead?





	1. Jon I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PREFACE: If you don't like where this story is going at any point, or if you don't like my take or characterization of the characters, you don't have to read this. 
> 
> If you choose to insult me, or any other author, because you don't like the choices we've made, you are the asshole. Don't be an asshole. If you don't like someone's work, just stop reading it and move on.

_**Jon** _

It had been nearly four years. Four years since Jon had said goodbye to his sisters and his brother _or was it the Three-Eyed Raven_? _now the King_ , he had to remind himself. He missed his family, and he missed _her._ The pain had never left, although the time and the peacefulness of the North offered respite. There were days when he wouldn't think of what he had done, what he _had_ to do, to the woman he loved. He often thought of how he had failed to be what she needed, when she needed it. Finding out his given name, who he was born as, weighed heavy on him, but when everything had ended, when he held her in his arms as she breathed her last, he knew his true name didn't matter. Not to her. And it shouldn't have mattered to him either, he knew.

His days were spent working on building new shelters and houses with the wildlings he was living amongst, or hunting game. Occasions called for negotiating disputes, or organizing trading bands to trade with the northerners that lived south of the wall. Tormund was usually never far, always a true friend to Jon. They had fought together and had seen much. A bond formed between them that existed only between brothers who had faced death and fought together. Now they lived in relative peace. Occasionally some of the small group they lived amongst would bring up ages old quarrels between clans, but Jon usually had great ease in quelling confrontations with his calm voice and wise words. He was a natural leader, but he had never wanted command.

The North beyond the wall had changed after the Night King had been defeated. The bitter cold retreated further north, although the days and more often the nights could bring a chill. Grass and trees and other vegetation had grown back. Spring had come. He wondered if summer would even reach as far north as they were.

They had chosen an area near the Milkwater, only a few dozen leagues from where it passed the wall and flowed into the Bay of Ice. Near the edge of the forest, which seemed to be increasingly bountiful with beasts. It seemed every hunt they went on ended up covering less and less ground, as their quarry became more plentiful each year.

Not long after they had settled on this area, Jon recalled, they foraged deep enough into the wood to happen upon that small encampment where Craster and his daughter-wives had lived. Seeing that place had brought back bitter memories, memories of his Lord Commander, Jeor Mormont, memories of seeing Craster leaving one of his own sons for a White Walker to claim. Naught more than a charred ruin today. Jon felt no remorse for the man, Craster, nor the mutineers of the Night's Watch who had slain Jeor Mormont in cold blood, when they happened upon that place again.

He felt the place somewhat cursed, although he wasn't a very superstitious man himself. Sometimes that made him wonder. He knew magic existed in the realm, he had been brought back from death by some kind of magic. _Why?_ He still often wondered. Was it to fight the Night King? Was it to bring Daenerys and her armies to the north to defeat the Night King? He tried as hard as he could to not think about such things. They always brought him back to _her_. 

_Had I done the right thing? Why did she do what she had done? What if I could have brought her back to reason? If only I had given in to my love for her. Could she have been the queen I had loved?_ He sometimes tortured himself with questions. The pain he felt whenever he thought of her blue green eyes, her long silver hair, the way she smiled at him, the feel of her embrace and her soft lips. It was bittersweet, what always started as fond memories led to the day in King's Landing... when the bells rang, the city burned, and his world fell to pieces around him. Some nights he couldn't sleep, the pain in his heart was too great. While these nights were fewer, they were still common enough.

This day started like many others, though the sun seemed to shine more through the windows and cracks and crevices of the cabin he had built with Tormund's help. Many other wildlings helped, as they all helped on each other's cabins. Several of their tribes had at times built great halls from wood, like the one he had seen, and pleaded with the Freefolk to flee south from in Hardhome. More often, they were used for more pleasant happenings, wild feasts and celebrations. Building more sturdy lodgings out of wood and mud and stone made more sense now, as they had no fear of White Walkers or the dead, nor was there need to range far and wide for sustenance. The North was peaceful now, and the people could settle down and work toward making it prosperous for those that remained. The war with the Night King had cost them great numbers, but those that survived were hardy and well suited to thrive. The mild conditions of this spring helped in great measure.

Jon rose from sleep and dressed himself. He wore supple leather breeches and a brown jerkin over a wool shirt of a lighter shade. His black boots well worn, but still sturdy, slipped onto his feet. He strapped his sword belt on, Longclaw held tight against his hip. He knew he wouldn't need the blade, but the habit of wearing it had not been broken. He felt a comfort having his fine sword with him.

After a quick morning meal of stew and tough bread, and a few short conversations with the usual denizens of their small village, Jon returned to his cabin to retrieve his bow, a long yew bow that the Northmen were often proficient with, to deadly affect on the battlefield, and a quiver with a dozen arrows which he slung across his back. Lastly he slung a wineskin filled with fresh water over his shoulder, and a small satchel with some salted venison and a small hard loaf of bread. He exited his cabin and made for the east end of the village, toward the edge of the forest. Silently by his side, Ghost, his white dire wolf. 

"Goin' off alone again?" a familiar voice bellowed. 

Jon turned to see Tormund with a horn in hand and a chunk of bread, crumbs decorating his bright red beard. 

"Aye" Jon replied with a nod. "I think I'll enjoy some time alone again." He looked up, noticing the sky full of large, fluffy clouds, with sunlight breaking through the numerous gaps. 

"And what do ye do when you're out there all alone?" Tormund inquired, walking up to stand alongside Jon. "Play with yourself!?!?" he loudly questioned, finishing with a bellowing laugh. "You need a woman, Jon Snow!" he heartily exclaimed, playfully hitting Jon's shoulder with his hand, almost losing grip of the bread he held.

Jon smiled and shook his head at Tormund, then stepped away. Ghost regarded Tormund and silently followed Jon. 

"I'll see you this eve, my friend." he said quietly as he walked toward the forest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like many, many others, I was extremely displeased with how Game of Thrones ended. It felt like the beloved character-driven epic story we were so engrossed in, had been changed to a plot-driven story, where characters were changed to behave differently in order to hit plot points to end the story the way they (the writers) thought that the story had to end. They simply didn't give the story enough time to develop more naturally, and may have been incapable of filling it out. I'm sure I'm not alone in wanting a more fleshed-out, fulfilling conclusion to the major story arcs left at the end of the 7th season.
> 
> My opinion on the 7th season is that overall, it was rushed, and really completed the turn into a plot-driven story, although I really did like the love story developing between Jon and Daenerys. As I've read that GRRM had been implying very openly since shooting started in the first season that "the convergence of Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen was kinda the point of the whole series", the love story made sense. My impression is that it was supposed to happen, and these two were supposed to have an epic love story, that their story would be the "Song of Ice and Fire".
> 
> So where to pick up from where the show ended... How would Daenerys feel, what would she think, if she were to awaken in a strange place after having been killed by the man she loved? Her mindset and emotional state here are pretty complicated, mostly because the "flip" we saw happen in The Bells just didn't make that much sense. This character, who had always endeavored to avoid shedding the blood of innocents, suddenly decides she should burn the whole city?
> 
> The failure of the dynamic here is that up to that point, we had not seen her become more brutal, we had not seen her violate her principles in the pursuit of her goals. She was not written to have or to take on an "end justifies the means" attitude that would have led to going against her core principles. What she experienced in the last season was trauma. Multiple traumas. The loss of Jorah, her trusted adviser, protector, and brother/father figure, the (poorly written convenient plot mechanism) of losing another dragon, Rhaegal, and her closest friend Missandei. She was also experiencing betrayal and the potential loss of the man she loved. When a character is traumatized, they don't tend to abandon their principles, they tend to push for their goal, because if they relent, their enemies would likely strike against them. Winning the goal and defeating the enemy is the best and most clear way for our character to achieve safety. So it makes sense that Daenerys would strike against her enemies, and that eliminating them, and achieving her goal would provide a sense of safety.
> 
> To that end, we have her executing Varys in response to betrayal, and we have her absolutely obliterating Euron's Iron Fleet, which would have been response to those two enemies or threats. Then there was Cersei. In the moment that the bells started ringing and the city had surrendered, I'm sure many like me, expected that when Daenerys flew on Drogon, she was going to attack the Red Keep directly. This would have made sense. The last threat, the last source of her anger, was still there.
> 
> What we got was just baffling. This is a difficult thing that I'm trying to write this story against. The aspect I'm focusing on is how Daenerys' emotional state changed in her last few scenes. On Drogon, she's angry and filled with rage. Once the attack is over, she's relieved and confident in her achievement (another aspect of writing that was bungled here was the "now I'm going to conquer the world!" bit. This is more in line with a character who has become corrupted to the point that achieving their initial goal ends up just not being enough, so they expand the goal. Again, she was not going corrupt, she was traumatized... so I felt this second change in her was... just wrong). Approaching the throne, she seems to change to a peaceful, almost hopeful state. And in the last moments, with Jon, she's filled with her love for him and the belief that they are meant to be together. This last state, this last frame of her emotions is about where I will have her "wake up"
> 
> So reconciling the huge "turn" we saw in Daenerys, which was mostly very inconsistent and in my opinion, nonsensical for her character, is a bit difficult. However, I think that love is the strongest emotion that tends to guide us. It can make us do very irrational things, or make us choose to abandon our goals, so that is where I am focusing.
> 
> “Love is the bane of honor, the death of duty. What is honor compared to a woman's love? What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms ... or the memory of a brother's smile? Wind and words. Wind and words. We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy.”


	2. Jon II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reunion... a revelation...

_**Jon** _

Jon walked into the wood, sunlight beaming through the canopy of the tall evergreens when the light broke through the clouds. It felt warm on his dark hair, kept bound in the rear. Light breezes whispered through the wood from time to time. He enjoyed the feel of the cool breeze on his face. The air smelled of pine, and earth. While he carried his bow, his head was not on a hunt. He tried not to think about much at all, but his mind would often not obey. His thoughts wondered south. I _should visit Winterfell_ , he thought. _It's been almost four years._ Sansa has to be running the place expertly now. _Queen Sansa, Queen in the North_ he thought. It amused him a little. Sansa always wanted to be a queen. Now she is one. He had his misgivings about her, though he hadn't expressed them before leaving King's Landing to head back to the Night's Watch. _The Night's Watch... forced to take the black... but the Night's Watch was no more._ The wall had fallen, and no longer needed protection. The realms of men were safe. And Sansa had betrayed him, had betrayed his trust, and it had contributed to the events that conspired against... He stopped his mind from wandering there, taking a deep breath. 

Jon's thoughts wondered back through time, remembering days of his childhood with his brothers and sisters... _my cousins_ he thought, sometimes forgetting he was not a bastard son of Eddard Stark, but a son of his sister, Lyanna. _I wish I would have known her_ he thought from time to time. Or if Lord Eddard had lived, what he could tell Jon about his mother.

Hours passed as Jon meandered deeper into the forest, Ghost plodded silently by his side, quiet and almost unnoticed, though Jon could always feel when his dire wolf was close. His path not straight, but not random, either. While his mind wandered from memory to memory, he always knew where he was in this forest. He had walked almost two leagues from the village. His walk had not taken him that far, were he to return in a straight direction. He knew there was a stream ahead in a shallow valley between two gently sloping hills. Not far beyond that, lay a clearing where some stone construction had long since fallen into ruin. He had enjoyed sitting upon the stones and seeing the clear sky above on many occasions. It was a quiet place, a peaceful place. It had gotten past mid day, so Jon decided he would stop there to eat some of his bread and salted venison, and then set himself to making his hunt a useful one. 

As he walked through the dead pine needles covering the forest floor, he made no effort at stealth. He hadn't a mind for the hunt yet. He knew the hills and the stream couldn't be too far ahead. 

A sound in the distance caught his ear, like a sudden rush of wind had hit the trees some distance away, the sound fading as it reached him. Ghost stopped and cocked an ear in the direction of the sound. He couldn't see far enough to make out what may have caused it. Although there was still plenty of space between the great trunks of the pines that reached high into the sky, he still could not see more than the tall trunks and branches spreading to the sky. A shadow in the distance, moving between the trees in the distance momentarily drew his gaze, but had vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Ghost had seen it, too, and shifted nervously.

Then another sound. _What is that? Was that a great bird, some eagle or hawk falling upon its prey?_ It was something like a bird, but deeper. Then there was quiet again. The rustling of trees moved by the gentle winds above the canopy. He stopped for a moment to listen, wondering if what he had heard was real or if he had just imagined it. After a few moments in silence, hearing only the gentle wind through the trees, and seeing that Ghost had mirrored his actions, he was almost convinced he hadn't been imagining things. The dire wolf had a connection to him, and Jon thought the wolf's reaction could just be that connection. 

At the bottom of the gently sloping hill, he found the stream, its clear water running to the east and south. He took a pull from his skin and then set it into the stream to fill it again. Luckily fresh water wasn't hard to find with the snows melting, and it was always good to have enough water. Ghost sniffed the air, then the stream, and lapped at the cool water for a few moments. He then bounded over the small stream, entirely too small for such a large beast to have to jump over. Seeing this made Jon smile. 

Up the gentle slope he stepped, feeling the soft covering of the forest slide a bit with each step. He crested the hill and walked toward where he remembered the ruin in the clearing to be. _It's not that much further, is it?_ He asked himself. _Just over that small hill there_ he remembered. Before he could reach the crest of the hill, a sound made him freeze in his tracks. Something moved on the far side of the hill. Something large. A heavy sound of something falling to the ground, then a rustling. Ghost stopped at his side, the fur along the back of his neck raised and his head lowered in caution. He didn't make a sound, though. 

Then a soft, guttural bellow. Jon recognized that sound. _I_ _t couldn't be... it just couldn't be!_ He withdrew an arrow from his quiver and nocked it, but held his bow low at his side. _What good would this do?_ He thought, looking down at his bow. _None_. But he felt better having a weapon near the ready. He felt better having Ghost next to him. He walked slowly, quietly to the crest of the hill, motioning for Ghost to stay low. Just beyond the stone ruin in the middle of the large clearing, crouched a large black _dragon._

He gasped in shock, not believing what he was seeing. _It can't be. Drogon? Why would Drogon be_ here? He blinked rapidly, not wanting to believe what his eyes were telling him. There, before him, was a great black dragon, laying in the clearing just beyond the stone ruin. Drogon. It had to be. There were no other dragons left in the world.

_Should I even approach? Would Drogon remember me? Would he remember what I did_? Jon pondered for a moment, what felt like hours. 

Drogon raised his snout into the air just a little and sniffed, then hummed a deep but soft rumble. A slight sense of panic spread through his chest. _He must smell me. Which way is the wind blowing? Across? Maybe he hasn't yet._ Jon walked cautiously and slowly to the edge of the clearing, trying to keep trees between him and the great black dragon. The clearing must have been 100 yards across at this point, with the stone ruin in the middle. Drogon was crouched, almost laying, with Jon at his right shoulder. 

Jon stepped to the very edge, next to the trunk of a tall tree, its roots reaching out from its trunk like the claws of a dragon even larger than the one before him. The beast sniffed the air again and Jon stopped. Drogon turned toward him, and fixed his gaze. Jon stood still, as the dragon stared at him. Another deep yet soft rumble emanated from deep inside the beast. 

Drogon then turned his head to the other side, as if to look at something on the opposite side of the clearing. He looked back to Jon and raised his head up higher, raising his body up on his wings. 

Jon could see a pair of small dark boots revealed, then legs in dark breeches... with a long jacket or dress the color of natural linen hanging behind... Drogon's neck raised higher still, and he saw a small, slender form. He saw long silver hair in two braids pulled back from sides of her head, with loose tendrils hanging down on her shoulders. 

He saw Daenerys. 

Standing next to Drogon, she reached up and touched his neck, and looked to the edge of the clearing, stepping under the long serpentine neck raised above her. She didn't see Jon immediately, turning and scanning as she searched. Jon heard the sudden sound of his bow falling against one of the hard exposed roots of the tree, wood clattering against wood. His jaw slackened. The sound drew her eyes to him, standing next to the trunk of a tall tree, his black hair pulled back, his dark beard on his face. Next to him, half as tall, was the white wolf Ghost, his red eyes fixed on her as well. 

She looked directly at him, not taking her eyes from his. 

_Am I dreaming? This can't be... it can't be..._

He took a step forward, then slowly another. He could see her eyes, her beautiful blue green eyes, soft and welcoming. There was a sadness in her eyes, yet there was a gentle yet slight smile to her mouth. She took a slow step toward him, and another. 

It seemed like minutes, hours as he slowly walked toward her. His eyes never moving from hers, nor hers from his. 

He stopped at an arm's length, as did she. Standing and staring into her eyes. 

"Is this... am I d..dreaming?" he softly said aloud

"No, Jon, this is not a dream" she softly replied.

Her eyes glistened with tears welling up. Jon's eyes were the same. 

She took another step closer to him, close enough to reach up and touch a hand to his cheek. The moment he felt her warm hand against his cheek - her hands always felt warm - a tear streamed from his eye.

"How is... how are you... " his voice trailed off. His mind grappled with what he was seeing, what he was feeling. A wave of emotions was crashing through his head, unlike anything he had felt. Pain. Sorrow. Love. Loss. Shame. Fear. 

"Volantis" She softly said. _I'm not sure what that means_ he thought. 

"Drogon took me to Volantis after... " her voice faltered, as pain crept into his eyes. Regaining a small measure of composure, she continued. "The red priestess there, Kinvara.. " _A red priestess, like the one that brought me back?_

She stared up into his eyes, he wanted to embrace her. He wanted to hold her close and feel her warmth. His heart cried out to him. He lowered his gaze as he saw her left hand move up to her breast. _Where I plunged my dagger..._

"I remember you, I remember the throne. I.." tears broke from her eyes, streaming down her soft, pale cheeks. "I remember the sadness in your eyes, your tears... feeling you, being in your arms, and your kiss... Then the world went black..." she trailed off, her eyes blankly lowering to his chest. "I woke in a strange place, some strange stone hall. Red fires burning around me. I couldn't remember how I got there." 

She paused and looked up at him. "They brought me back, like the red lady you back" she spoke softly, as she placed her hand on his chest, where his scars marked his heart. She swallowed, and kept her gaze at his chest. His heart was pounding. 

"I did something terrible, Jon. I remembered. I remembered the pain in your eyes. I remembered the fire, smoke... ash... the screams... I remember the rage... " she softly spoke, still looking down at his chest, her brow furrowed with shame.

Jon stood still, his eyes searching for hers, his mind still racing and yet stunned into silence. 

She looked up into his eyes again as she softly continued "and I remember how I felt for you, wanting you to be with me. Feeling that love as we kissed..." she trailed off for a moment. "I felt my love for you above everything else"

Sadness fell across Jon's face as he continued to look at her. 

"I came to find you, Jon. I came because... I love you, and I can't live this life without you. " 

"Daenerys..." Jon softly voiced, tilting his head slightly, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry that I... " his voice faltered.

"it's alright, Jon." she softly replied, reaching for his hands. "You did what was right. You did what was right. That's one of the things I love about you." she paused for a moment. "I know what I did... what I said I wanted to do... I... you had to stop me. You had to." her voice trailed off as she looked up into his eyes again.

"But now...? " he asked quietly, turning his head to the side.

"I don't care about thrones or titles. None of that matters. Not anymore. Now I only want to be here, wherever you are... please Jon... " she trailed off softly "I feared you would hate me... that you would see a monster" fresh tears streamed from her eyes.

He turned back to her, raising his hands to her cheeks, lifting her face up to his. He looked into her eyes, seeing the woman he knew he loved in that moment on the ship when he had awoken... then he leaned closer to her, pressing his lips against hers. Their eyes closed and Daenerys inhaled deeply as they kissed, softly, slowly. 

After a long moments, they separated and looked into each other's eyes again. The sky could be falling around them, and they would not have noticed. She smiled up at him, inhaled and sighed in relief. Ghost gave a soft whimper as he sat right next to Jon, neither of them having even noticed the wolf approach.

Daenerys held out her hand to let Ghost sniff it. He recognized her, knowing she was a friend from the time in Winterfell. The wolf would not know what had befallen her, or what she had done. She was someone Jon trusted, someone who loved to rub his head and scratch behind his ears. Ghost welcomed her hand and stepped forward to nuzzle against her side. Daenerys gave a quiet laugh in response.

"There is something else. Another reason I've come to find you..." 

His brow furrowed questioningly and his head tilted slightly. 

Daenerys smiled gently, and turned toward Drogon, who had been watching the two quietly, but intently. Jon raised his head look in that direction. _There's a dragon staring at me, and I barely noticed!_

She took his hand in hers as she turned to stand next to him, facing toward the great black beast in front of them. Ghost didn't seem to care, he felt Jon's ease, so the dragon didn't raise any reaction from the great wolf. 

"Lyanna!" she called out. Jon's eyes went wide as he quickly looked to Daenerys at his side, then back. She kept her gaze in the direction of the dragon.

"Lyanna, come to me!" she said boldly, yet softly. 

Drogon nodded his head down as a small figure, barely knee high, clumsily walked around from behind his massive form. She had long black hair, braided like Daenerys', and brown eyes like Jon's. 

He watched the small girl amble toward Daenerys, almost falling down a few times. Jon's eyes welled up with tears. _A child? MY child?_

The girl stepped closer and stopped in front of Daenerys, who knelt and smiled at the girl. She let Jon's hand go and picked up the young girl, as Jon stared at the beautiful little girl. Ghost turned his head toward the child, sniffing the air, but not moving, as if he knew he might be a scary beast to the child, but she didn't seem to care as she had walked to her mother. The wolf looked up, his curiosity keeping his gaze.

Daenerys turned a bit toward Jon, with the child facing him, resting against her hip in her arms. 

"This is your daughter, Lyanna." 

Jon's head turned slightly to the side, and tears streamed from his eyes. Daenerys looked at him with a softness he had never seen in her. "This is our daughter" she said softly. 

The young girl smiled, and looked between her mother and the man in front of her. "Lyanna, this is your father." 

"dada" the little girl said quietly. 

"Yes, this is your father" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I mentioned in the little 'Preface' I put at the end of the first chapter, really reconciling the huge change we saw in Daenerys would be very difficult. She had not been corrupted, she had suffered trauma. It wasn't an evolution, it was a lot of very terrible things happening to her in a short span of time. 
> 
> I also imagine that riding on a dragon, the connection that the rider has, acts as a bit of an "emotional feedback loop", especially for destructive emotions, like rage. I'm going to try to work this aspect into it, and play it as a sort of temporary psychosis, broken by a dagger to the heart. That'll usually interrupt your train of thought.


	3. Daenerys I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a simple cabin, but it feels like home

Daenerys

She didn't know how he would react to her return. He had been brought back from the dead, so in the least he knew it was possible. But she wasn't aware she was with child when her forces attacked King's Landing. _When I fell... I deserved to fall_. This would be a surprise to him. And there he was, in front of her, taking in the sight of his tiny daughter. She knew Jon would instantly love his child, _our miracle_ she thought. _I really believed that witch meant I would never bear my own children_. 

"We'll need to make for my cabin soon if we're to make it before sunset. It's not that far, but on foot... " after a moment, Jon looked up toward Drogon.

_He won't want the dragon to scare anyone... nor would I._

"Drogon will stay here. I've tried to stay clear of most people." she stated calmly, Lyanna quietly playing with her hair as she rested in her mother's arms. "I'm not sure what people will think if they saw... " 

"Nor I. Everyone knows what happened..." Jon trailed off. Daenerys inhaled and her eyes showed a hint of guilt, recognizing what he had said. 

"Hold her while I gather our things?" Daenerys asked after a moment, as she turned Lyanna toward her father. 

Jon's eyes widened and his smile turned down a bit. _Is he scared?_ Daenerys let out a slight laugh, as Jon raised his arm to welcome his daughter to his embrace for the first time. Lyanna smiled up at him. _His daughter... she likes him, I can tell._

"I'll be right back, my sweet" Daenerys whispered to their daughter, then she turned to walk back toward the dragon. Drogon raised his head as she reached up to run her hand along the underside of his long neck, walking to the other side of his massive form. After a few moments, she returned with a leather knapsack, a rolled blanket lashed to the top. Stopping to say a few unheard words to the dragon, she walked back toward Jon and their daughter, pausing in her steps for a moment to take in the sight. Jon was looking down at his daughter with a love that only a father could show. _He was already in love with his daughter._ She had no doubt. Lyanna was reaching up to touch Jon's dark beard

"Some food, clothes and a few things... it's been a long journey". 

"aye, and she... she doesn't fear the dragon?" 

"No, Drogon behaves like a timid kitten with her. It's amazing... such a large, fearsome creature that behaves so meekly around her." Daenerys mused. "She enjoys riding with me, although we haven't done it often."

Jon motioned to the direction he had walked from the tree line. He had almost forgotten the bow he had dropped. Daenerys bent down and picked it up, as Jon's hands were a bit full. She plucked the arrow off of the bowstring and returned it to the quiver across Jon's back. _I can't believe I'm here_ she thought, as all of the fear and apprehension she felt before when she thought about seeing Jon again melted away. Would he refuse her? Would he hate her? Would he be angry? _After what I have done... I may deserve all of that._ But their reunion had been sweet. She knew Jon must be overwhelmed with it. He was always somewhat quiet, but this time she knew he must be struggling to process it all. She had returned to him, _with our daughter._ How could he not be stunned? 

"It's not that far... uhh.. a couple hours walk, maybe a little more" Jon stated, seeing how Daenerys was looking ahead, trying to see what was around the trees that lay before them. "I often walk deep into the forest... it's a quiet place to think" 

"What do you think about?" 

"You" he stated plainly. 

She took his hand as he held their daughter with his other arm, her head sinking, wondering what he would think about her. She looked to her other side to see Ghost quietly trotting next to her. 

"I... I wonder often if what I did was right. I would think about your smile, your warmth, the nights we kept the cold winter at bay on that ship as we sailed to White Harbor" Jon said, looking over to her. Lyanna's head was now resting against Jon's shoulder, her eyes growing heavy. 

_It may have been one of those nights that Lyanna was brought into being_ Daenerys mused. She remembered those nights, and many that followed. She had found a good, honorable, brave man. Exactly the kind of man she knew she should be with. It felt right. Every moment, every touch, every shared look. _It was meant to be, we were meant to be._

"I often think of the same" she admitted.

"Then I remember..." his voice faltered "I remember holding you in my arms.... the look in your eyes as you saw what I had done... " his voice choked

She stopped and tugged his hand to stop him, turning toward him. She could see the tears welling up in his eyes. 

"You did what was right, Jon... I... " her voice trailed off. 

"Was it?" he questioned "I knew in that moment that I loved you, but it was someone else in front of me." 

"You were right," she agreed solemnly, "you did what was right, and I understand." she repeated, assuring him with a squeeze of his hand, as she looked up at him. She turned to continue walking. "I had a lot of time to think about what I had done. I will tell you about it..." she looked over and saw Lyanna's head resting against Jon's chest and couldn't help but smile. 

"She's asleep..." Jon said quietly. Daenerys gently squeezed his hand as they walked. 

..... 

After nearly two hours of walking, mostly in silence, hand in hand, they approached the edge of the forest. The smell of smoke, bread, meat and fish cooking, earth and timber greeted them. A couple dozen milled about the small village, not taking notice of the pair, the three of them, walking from the woods. Daenerys looked over them, women, children and men, noticing that none could have been older than 40 years. _The elderly must have perished in the war against the Night King..._

"The one there, to the left. That's mine" Jon indicated, guiding Daenerys toward his small cabin. The base of the structure had stone laid around it, and a small short chimney on the far end, opposite the door. The wood was rough, the roof made of crossed timbers and more rough hewn boards. Similar boards made the door, with some large flat stones placed at the threshold. A pile of quartered wood stacked near the door. The evening was coming, and the sun sinking low. 

Jon looked to Ghost and motioned with his head, and the great wolf trotted off across the small village

"JON!" a voice bellowed from his right. "No deer for us??" Tormund asked jokingly as Jon turned toward him. 

"What is...?" Tormund inquired as he realized Jon was holding a small child to his chest. "did you find a.." He started to inquire as Daenerys stepped from beside Jon, into Tormund's view. 

Tormund's eyes widened in disbelief. "THE DRAGON QUEEN" he said deeply as he froze in place, staring at her. She looked back at him with a weak smile. 

"I am no queen, Tormund Giantsbane.... not anymore..." her voice trailed off, as she looked down and away from him.

"what the... how?" the tall red haired man stammered

"It's a long story, but we are tired and will need rest" Jon replied and turned toward his cabin, pausing and turning back to Tormund for a moment. "This is our daughter, Lyanna."

No one who knew the fire-haired Tormund would have guessed his eyes could ever get so wide, as the surprise of this new knowledge left him speechless, another rare thing for the boisterous man. 

"We'll speak on the morrow, eh?" Jon said quietly as he turned away and ushered Daenerys toward his little cabin. Opening the door with his free hand, being careful not to bump his daughter into the threshold, he motioned Daenerys in. The late day sun was barely enough light. 

"The blankets, there should be more than enough on the bed. Lay them out for Lyanna" Jon motioned with his free hand. Lyanna stirred against him, opening her eyes sleepily for a few moments, then closing them again. "There are a couple more folded in the chest there" he motioned to the chest against the wall near the door. 

"She's so tired" Daenerys said quietly. "It's been an exciting day for her." 

Folding a blanket into quarters, then doing the same with the blanket lashed to her knapsack, she laid them out on a space on the floor at the foot of the bed. She turned and stood in front of Jon, and gently took Lyanna from his arms, and with the care of a loving mother, laid her gently on the blankets, folding one of them over her. The air was already cooling, and it felt like this night might be a cold one. 

_"Avy jorrāelan"_ she whispered to the child

Jon stepped to the side of the small room, and hung his satchel, his wine skin and quiver of arrows. Carefully he unstrung his long bow and leaned it against the corner near the door. He turned back toward Daenerys, as she rose and moved stand next to the bed. Jon's hands went to his sword belt, unbuckled it and removed it, wrapping the belt around the scabbard, then leaned it against the wall in the corner.

Jon looked at her, then clumsily stammered "wood". Her brow furled in confusion. "I'll... get wood for the fireplace, it may get cold tonight". She smiled and gave a slight laugh. _He's not able to think straight... I'm not sure I can either..._ She watched as he went to the door, and stepped outside. A few moments later, he returned with an arm full of quartered wood. Looking down at their daughter, sleeping peacefully, he gently closed the door, then smiled at her, then at Daenerys and knelt in front of the fireplace. The bed was just next to the fireplace, Jon barely two feet in front of her. She felt her heartbeat quicken as Jon worked on the fire. Then he rose, and turned toward her. 

Daenerys stood there, silently, looking at him. _How I have missed just seeing him_ she thought. For moments, they just stared at each other.

Jon blinked and shook his head, moving to the table in the corner opposite the bed, where a small wood stool sat in front of it. He motioned to the bed, for her to sit, as he moved the stool toward the bedside. She sat on the edge of the bed, and he sat on the stool in front of her. Their gaze still locked together, even in the failing light. Jon reached forward and took her hands in his. His hands were cool, strong and somewhat rougher than she remembered. Life north of the wall, living a bit rough as it was here in this simple cabin, he must have to use his hands to make his living now. 

"I can't believe this is real" he said quietly, which was met with a smile. He turned to look at their child, swaddled in blankets at the foot of the bed. 

She reached a hand out and touched his face, rubbing her fingers against his dark beard, and he turned back to her. 

"This is where I belong, Jon. This is where _we_ belong" she whispered as she looked to their daughter, then back to the face of her love. "I'm sorry it took so long for us to get here. It wasn't safe. It wasn't wise to try to make it back, not after...." she spoke quietly, her voice trailing off. 

"I never should have... " he replied softly, hanging his head and looking down to the floor.

"You did what was right..." she interrupted, her voice in a whisper, but strongly assertive. 

Jon raised his head and locked eyes with her.

"No, let me speak... I never should have turned away from you. After we had won against the Night King... I never should have turned away from you. I should have listened to you.... you were right..." his eyes fell back to the floor, and shame crossed his face. He raised his eyes again. "I should have loved you. I should have held you and let you know that I loved you" his voice was quiet and shaking.

She could see the shame and regret in his eyes, remembering that night in his chambers in Winterfell. She again touched his face, and slid to the edge of the bed, bringing herself closer to him. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. He met her and moved his hands to her face as they kissed, slowly at first... then deeper... the memories of their previous passions igniting. Jon stood and Daenerys followed, still locked together. His arms wrapped around her and pulled her close to him, as her breaths increased in pace and depth. Jon slowed and broke the kiss, looking into her eyes. 

"I still can't believe you're here..." he whispered. She turned her head and laid it against his chest, her forehead under his chin. "Can I just hold you tonight?" he whispered to her. She nodded against his chest, feeling safe and warm in his embrace. She then turned her head to look up at him. 

"I would like that" she softly spoke, then looked to their daughter. "We should sleep. I'll tell you everything tomorrow"

Jon nodded. He stepped back and moved the stool back toward the small table, as Daenerys sat back on the edge of the bed to remove her boots, then her riding dress. She stood again to let the dress slide from her shoulders, leaving a fine silken slip covering her slender form. Jon removed his jerkin and wool shirt, laying them on the stool. They kept looking at each other, drinking in the sight. Jon lowered and stepped out of his breeches, left only in a short wool undergarment. Daenerys removed her riding pants, letting the short slip fall over her hips. She stepped closer to him again, putting her hand to his scarred chest, gently feeling the ridges of the wounds that had laid him low at Castle Black. He had never told her exactly what happened, but she remembered the words of Ser Davos the day they met. "... he took a knife in the heart for his people, he gave his life for his people..." It was seeing those scars on his chest after rescuing his party north of the wall when she came to know that Davos was telling the honest truth. He _had_ died for his people. 

Jon moved to the side of the bed standing close to her, and leaned down to toss over the blankets. Her hands moved to take the ends of her braids, then she removed the bindings and unraveled them, letting her long, silver hair hang down next to her face, over her shoulders. Jon watched lovingly and moved his hand up to run his fingers through her hair. _He loved doing that before... he loved watching me remove my braids._ He leaned forward and kissed her softly again, then sat on the bed, moved his feet under the blankets and backed away from the edge. She turned to stand facing the bed as he held the blanket up, inviting her to lay next to him. She gave him a smile and climbed into bed, as he covered her with the blanket, turning on his side to hold her close to him. She turned her back toward him and pressed back against his body, feeling his arm wrap around her, his face falling into her long, soft hair. She heard him inhale, and smiled. He always loved the smell of her hair. She found his hand with hers and squeezed it. _This feels like home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So far, the style I think I want to indulge in is a slow proceeding with lots of dialog. It's always something that made the show great, at least in the earlier seasons. I hope I can do the characters justice.
> 
> A bit of inspiration came from a work here called "home" by RollTodd. He started his story picking up where the 7th season ended, and it's an excellent story. He's shown a great knowledge of the source material, and has a very easily readable writing style. At this point, he's not quite done with it, but I loved his basic premise -Daenerys, at a very base level, really wants to feel like she has a home, and Jon is that home. 
> 
> His story is what I wish season 8 had been, with the rest being season 9. 
> 
> Next chapter will be a flashback. I wrote most of it kinda stream-of-consciousness, but I may need to scrap or rework a lot of it and lay out a framework of Daenerys' emotions, which may start out tumultuous, but get pared away to the basics - her love for Jon.
> 
> I also feel I may need to fill in some detail from parts that occurred in season 8... but it may be tricky. I can't add anything that would alter that part of the story - for instance, I couldn't add detail about Arya and Sansa's reaction to learning Jon's true name... because what I'd think happened would have altered the story D&D were (very poorly) telling us.


	4. Daenerys II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback

Awakening

Darkness. It was just darkness, then a start. She gasped, as if she had been holding her breath for too long. Her eyes opened slowly, but even the dim light of several fires seemed to burn her vision, like looking up at the mid day sun. She blinked and tried to force her eyes to adjust. A few moments of this, and she was able to take in the surroundings. She lay on a warm, yet solid slab, in the middle of a room, maybe four steps wide and a bit longer. Several torches burned along the walls, their light dancing playfully. 

She felt herself, taking account of her body. She was naked, save for a cloth over her hips, covering her from her navel to the middle of her thighs, and another cloth across her chest. The room was warm, comfortably so. Trying to sit up a bit, she felt a sting and a soreness under her breast, and noticed her mouth was dry. _Where am I? How did I get here... why..._ then she saw his face. 

Jon. Right in front of her, his face dirty with ash and blood. He was in tears, anguish overtaking his face. _Why is Jon crying?_ She could feel his pain, but for a moment she couldn't remember why. 

Then it hit her. The screams. The fire. The smoke and ash. The city in charred, burning ruins. The smell of burned wood... the smell of burned flesh... The emotions... fear, loss, regret, loneliness, abandonment... but most of all rage. Rage. She remembered the feel of all of her emotions, and how being atop Drogon intensified everything. Anger amplified...

Tears welled up in her eyes. _Was this real? What did I do??_ The images of fire and blood filled her mind's eye. _Blood of my enemies, not innocents..._ but innocents had burned. _No, I couldn't have..._ the images of the city burning overwhelmed her, then Jon's face again, his tears, his anguish. 

"JON" she cried out, her voice hoarse and cracking as the word echoed against the hard walls of the chamber. She sat up on the hard surface, with her eyes wide. "No... no... " she muttered softly as she brought her hands up to her face and sobbed deeply. 

_What have I done?? Is this real?_ She still felt as if she were remembering a dream, but every moment, every image, every sound and every scent grew more and more real. She sobbed again. 

With a heavy groan, the dark colored wood door opened. Daenerys looked up toward the door to her left, moving her hands to clutch the cloth that covered her body. 

"My queen" the woman said as she approached. She had long, dark hair, intense green eyes and was clothed in a deep crimson dress. "you must be thirsty" she said as she raised a large, ebony goblet to offer Daenerys. "Drink". She noticed the distinct necklace this woman wore. It looked nearly identical to the one the Red Lady Melisandre had worn. 

Daenerys gingerly took the cup, not taking her eyes away from the woman now standing at the side of the high platform she was seated on now. Then she looked at the cup, inhaled through her nose to see if there was a scent, but none was found. Water. She took a sip, and the moisture was a relief to her mouth. Slowly she drank, looking back up at the woman who had entered. 

"I am Kinvara, a servant of the Lord of Light" she proclaimed, with a confident smile. "one moment, my queen" she spoke before turning back toward the door and exiting the chamber. A moment later she returned with a dark, folded cloth item in her hands. She unfurled the crimson colored garment, a long robe, and held it up to Daenerys. 

Looking intently at her, Daenerys set the goblet down on the slab, and turned toward the woman, reaching for the robe. She stepped onto the floor, which also felt warm, and guided the robe around herself. Her face was blank, and her eyes red and still wet with tears. 

"Come with me, my queen" Kinvara spoke, and turned to the door. Daenerys followed her in silence, not sure what to make of this woman, this place. She had met a priestess of the Lord of Light before, on Dragonstone, and then again in Winterfell. Ser Davos told her that the Red Woman, Melisandre, had walked into the field after the battle against the Night King had been defeated, and faded into a pile of dust. She didn't know what to make of this, but she knew Davos had no love for the woman, and wanted her hanged for her past transgressions. He didn't get the chance to see that. 

She was led down a hallway past a few closed, dark colored doors, like the one on the room she had just been in. Kinvara stopped at one and opened the door, motioning for her to enter. It was a small bedchamber, with a bed big enough for one person in the corner to the right of the door, a small table next to the bed with a bowl of water and some cloths, and a small stool. There was a window, but the dark wood shutters were closed, and it didn't appear that there was any sunlight on the other side. A small stand with three long candles burning stood on the table

"You may be tired. You should rest now." as she motioned to the bed. Daenerys stopped for a moment to regard the priestess. 

"why am I here?" Daenerys asked sternly, but her voice still cracked from the dryness. 

"Your dragon brought you to us, and we brought you back." Kinvara purred, with a sly smile on her lips. 

"Brought me... back?" _she couldn't mean..._

"When the dragon left you outside our temple, the dagger was still in your breast" 

_Dagger?_ Daenerys left hand went to her breast... she could feel something just below it... a raised scar that hadn't been there before.

"Get some sleep, my queen..." Kinvara trailed off as she stepped back and closed the door. 

Daenerys stood there for what felt like minutes, her hand against her chest, feeling... She opened the robe and in the dim candle light of the room and looked to see what this was she felt.... a scar, much like the ones Jon had upon his chest, but smaller. 

She gasped. The memory hit her like a blow to the chest. She turned and slumped down onto the bed, her eyes welling with tears again. _Jon... he..._ she felt the scar again, pressing her fingers to it... she felt a slight tinge of pain. She saw Jon's face, his tears and his anguish. She felt his kiss as they embraced. She felt like she had purpose, her path was clear. All of the pain, the anger, the loneliness had washed away, had elevated her. She knew Jon was with her. They were meant to be together. Then the flash of pain. She looked down and saw the dagger buried in her chest, Jon's hand still upon it. Then his eyes. The pain in his eyes... 

Daenerys fell to the bed, her sobs shook her whole body. _What have I done? I let him down, I betrayed his love... I betrayed myself... blood of my enemies, not the blood of innocents._ Her sobs echoed in the room. Long hours passed until exhaustion took her and passed her into sleep.

******

Daenerys opened her eyes from the blackness, and found herself standing in a large hall. The place seemed familiar to her for some reason, she couldn't quite recall. A short set of steps leading up to a landing, and a large pair of sturdy wooden doors set between tall marble pillars, with a circular arch above them. The marble floor inlaid with large brown squares with thick black borders. Large pillars lining the hall reached to the tall ceiling high above. Sconces encircled the base of each pillar, made of iron and shaped like the bars of a prison cell, with the vertical bars reaching upward and outward like sharp swords. 

She looked up the ceiling and turned, following the high roof to the far side of the large hall. A tall window reached nearly to the ceiling, downward, with iron bars crossing in an open pattern, and a large seven pointed star, set in a circle of iron, spikes reaching from the top, like swords pointed to the sky. Her sight moved slowly downward, silently taking in the detail. Beneath the window, a huge form, a chair, made of swords, their blades pointing into the sky from the top, and their bent and blackened iron forms shaping the throne. The Iron Throne, she knew. 

Moments passed in silence as she stared at the throne. A wave of fear her, but she could not understand why. This moment seemed quiet and peaceful. 

Without warning, a huge sound, a crack, echoed in the hall. She looked up, and saw fractures appearing in the roof, outlined by bright red and amber light - flames. A rumbling sound crescendoed through the hall, until it reached deafening volume, but Daenerys stood still, watching the cracks form above her, almost as if in fascination. They spread to the wall to her right, and down the pillars. Bright light spilled through as large sections of the roof collapsed to the floor. Flames rushed across the gap and a dark winged shadow passed above.

She stood still. The dust and debris swirled around her, and the sound diminished until it was near silence. Then a muffled creaking of wood followed by quiet footsteps behind her. She did not turn to see what it was, the throne held her gaze. 

"Daenerys..." she heard a familiar voice from behind her, calling her quietly, asking gently for her attention. 

Halfway turning away from the throne before her, she saw Jon, standing in his leather brigandine armor, dirty and bloodied. 

"Daenerys..." he said again, holding his hand out to her, with a weak smile and hope in his eyes. 

She stared at him for a moment, then looked back to the throne. 

"please... don't..." she heard Jon plead.

Turning her head back toward him, his expression was turning to sadness, his hand outstretched and his eyes welling with tears. "please, please don't Daenerys... " he implored, his voice cracking. 

Still the throne beckoned, and she turned to face it, and it seemed to stretch ever skyward. She took a step forward. 

"NO!!" he screamed in pain. "NO, please"... but she didn't look back... until a bright flash of bright reddish amber light and heat swelled up behind her. She turned quickly to see Jon on his knees, reaching for her, flames enveloping him from behind, the floor darkening to the color of blood. 

"JON!" she screamed as she ran toward him, but it was too late...

******

Days passed, and Daenerys cried and slept. The memory of the horrors she had committed, and the pain she saw in the face of the man she loved haunted her. Guilt and anguish, shame and regret weighed on her heart and her mind so heavily, she had trouble breathing at times. The dream she had that first night visited her frequently. 

Kinvara had visited every day, bringing food and drink, imploring Daenerys to eat and to gain her strength back, but the memories and the emotions buried her in sorrowful pain that felt like it would never lift. When red priestess tried to talk to her, she always refer her as "my queen".

_I am no queen... not after what I have done. I don't deserve that. I don't deserve anything. I don't deserve his love..._ she thought of Jon endlessly. His face in anguish, tears in his eyes. She tried to think of him before that. When he rode next to her as they arrived at Winterfell, when he had held her on the ship they sailed on... when he had warmed her bed those nights. 

But the memories just drove into her heart like the dagger that had ended her. Days, weeks, she stayed in that room, sobbing, crying, weeping. Often she would wake, calling out for Jon, as she saw his face, his tears, his sadness. The thought of his sadness was the worst feeling. She knew that atop Drogon, she had burned thousands... yet the pain she caused Jon was the worst feeling. 

_How could I have done that? Why?_ She couldn't conjure any recollection of her thoughts, just the maelstrom of emotions overtaking her, being amplified by the dragon on which she rode... the dragon that burned the city... at her command. 

******* 

After what seemed like weeks, the bouts of overwhelming sadness abated, if only a little. She still wept every night, still woke crying out for her love, Jon. She could still see his face, his tears and his anguish. 

Kinvara visited once again, bringing a bowl of stew, water and a fruit, an orange. Daenerys reluctantly ate. _I should have died. I should have stayed gone._ She lamented every waking moment. 

"You should bathe, my queen" Kinvara implored. It had been weeks, and Daenerys had barely done more than pace around the small chamber, and sleep... and weep. 

"no" Daenerys replied. "I am no queen. Not anymore". 

Kinvara gave her a resigned look as she sloppily peeled the orange, ripped out a section and chewed it slowly. After a few bites, and sips of the stew, Daenerys set the bowl down on the small table and sighed. 

"Come with me" Kinvara beckoned as she stepped to the door. She was led down a hall, past the room she had awoken in, down a flight of stairs into another larger chamber. There was a large bath in the middle of the room, below the level of the floor. It felt warm in this room, the air humid with steam. Cloths lay folded and stacked near the edge of the bath. The ceiling was higher than the other rooms above had been, and sunlight weakly shone in through small windows near the ceiling on the far side of the room. There was a scent of oils, like soft flowers... roses and lavender. 

Kinvara motioned her into the room. 

"Take as long as you like. I will see that your chambers are tended to" Kinvara said as she turned and closed the door to the chamber. 

Daenerys took in the room again. The light, the scent, the warmth and humidity. There was a bench to her left, along the wall with the door. Upon it were more cloths and what appeared to be another dark colored robe. She had worn the same robe since she had awoke. She didn't much care that it had long since started to smell unpleasant, and that she had needed to bathe. 

Easing off the robe and let it fall to a pile at her feet, she stepped slowly into the bath. The water was warm, but not hot. Leaning back to let her long silver hair fall into the water, she gently massaged it, then took one of the small cloths next to the tub, wet it, and began to wash her face, her neck, and down her body. Small bars of pleasantly scented soaps lay next to the cloths. She took a moment to smell each of them, and settled on one that smelled of lavender and roses, like the oils she used previously. The bath felt good, the warmth relaxed her muscles, and almost made her thoughts vanish. 

Her eyes closed, the warm water relaxing her, she saw Jon's face again... but this time as he had been with her in the cabin on the ship. There was a different emotion there, desire, passion... love. She remembered the feel of his touch, his warm body against hers, his embrace, his kiss. She remembered making love with him. The connection she felt when they were wrapped up in each other, when he was inside her, felt more deep than anything she had felt before. Neither Drogo nor Daario touched her in any way that felt as strong as Jon had. 

It was a love deeper than she had felt before. This was the man she could have only hoped existed in a world so full of selfish, conniving, deceitful men. Jon was selfless, honorable, brave and humble. His achievements were not out of ambition or greed, but out of a natural leadership, and a heart that knew he had to do what was right, not what was expected of him. _He risked his life just coming to me..._ she remembered, as he stood before her, refusing to bend the knee, speaking of an army of dead that threatened the whole realm. _If only I had believed him then..._

She continued to imagine his face, his smile, his scent... and his touch. It was almost pleasant... but his face then turned to anguish and tears, looking down at her as her life slipped away.. 

"JON!" she exclaimed, sitting up suddenly in the bath, the sound of the water swirling around her. The anguish returned, and her eyes again filled with tears. She buried her face in her hands and wept again. 

After a time, she wiped the tears from her face and rose from the water, collecting a cloth from beside the bath to dry herself with, then wrapped the fresh robe around herself. Opening the door to the chamber, she looked back to the stair she had come down before, then the other way. The hall turned a corner to the left, and she could see that sunlight illuminated that path. Deciding against curiosity, she turned back to the stair and walked back toward the chamber she had stayed in these few days, or weeks? She had lost track of how many days it had been. 

She found the room cleaned, the bowl and cup gone, fresh sheets upon the bed, and new candles in the stand on the table. A small wooden box sat on the table, dark in color, well crafted but otherwise nondescript. She opened it and found an ivory handled brush a polished silver hand mirror, and several ribbons of black or red. She held the mirror up and looked at herself blankly for a moment, then hurriedly put the mirror back down. Taking the brush, she spent a few moments running it through her long hair, but only briefly enough to ensure there were no tangles. 

She moved to the bed, sat and blankly stared at the far wall, weak sunlight lighting the room softly. She thought about the memories she had in the bath. Of Jon, and the more pleasant moments they had shared. Her heart ached again. Laying down on her side, facing the window, she stayed awake for a while as the light slowly dimmed, and then fell to sleep. 

******

Sleep had almost been peaceful that night. The pleasant scents of the bath water helped put her mind at ease, but only for a while. The dreams came once again. Dreams of fire and ash, flesh burned and a city in ruin. Then she would see Jon, his face in anguish and tears flowing from his eyes. 

She would wake from this dream suddenly, her eyes wet with tears and her heart aching. 

This night, the dream came, but she did not wake. She had another dream. She walked into a room with bright sunlight streaming in from an open side, pillars spaced out along a wall, a balcony. There was a man with long dark hair standing with his back to her. He turned toward her, and she saw him holding a small child. A girl with long dark hair and deep blue green eyes. It was Jon holding the child, and he was smiling at her. She approached, and reached out to touch him, but he faded to mist, swirling away from her hand... then the mist turned to fire, and the room shook. The walls crumbled inward, and the ceiling collapsed... then it faded... 

She woke to the sound of birds chirping in the distance outside. She had not heard it in the days before, or at least she had never noticed it. She thought to the dream she had. Jon, and a child, a girl. For a moment, it felt pleasant, then she remembered them turning to mist, to fire... she felt a sudden lurch in her belly, and reached for the chamber pot as she vomited into it. 

The door opened just as she set the pot back down on the floor, looking toward the door as Kinvara entered the room. She held a plate with cooked eggs, sausage and slices of fruit. 

"You need to eat, Daenerys". She set the plate down and handed a cup of water to Daenerys. Taking the cup, she took a sip and rinsed her mouth out, leaning over to spit the contents into the pot. 

"Why am I here?" Daenerys asked, looking toward the plate. 

"The Lord of Light knew your time on this world is not over. You are still needed." 

"Needed? How could anyone need me after I.... " her voice trailed off. 

Kinvara knelt in front of her, and looked up into her eyes. "I saw what happened. I saw it in the flames. I saw your dragon die. I saw your friend cut down by your enemy. I saw the ships and the walls burn. Then I saw the city burn." 

Daenerys lowered her head and closed her eyes. _I burned the city... I slaughtered innocents..._

"Events you could not control that conspired against you. The anger and pain you felt. Atop the firey heart of a dragon, it consumed you" the red priestess narrated, as if reading from the lines of a book. 

"It was not the way it was supposed to happen. Something that was hidden was revealed, when it should have stayed hidden. At least for a while longer". 

"Jon?" Daenerys softly spoke, looking up at Kinvara.

"Yes. What was hidden wasn't meant to be known. Not yet. It was revealed for a purpose, a purpose set against you." 

Daenerys' thoughts swirled, she thought of Jon, of how he felt he needed to tell his sisters about his true name. Sansa. If she hadn't known, Tyrion wouldn't have known. Varys wouldn't have known. If Jon hadn't known... if... if Bran hadn't seen it? Her head tilted with the realization. 

"A force worked against you, only to further itself. You fought against part of it, and it was defeated, but another part, a branch of the same tree, remains." the priestess said quietly. 

"Bran, this, 'three eyed raven' he called himself" Daenerys said, as if a reply to a question. 

"yes, the magic of the trees, of the Children of the Forest... the magic is linked to the great Other" the priestess explained. "That magic is not gone. It will rise again."

A touch fear came to Daenerys, showing in her eyes.

"Worry not, it will be a long time before the cycle repeats, maybe centuries. But you will have a part to play in it. You need to live."

"A part? How can I play a part if the cycle will take centuries?" Daenerys implored. 

"Your bloodline must carry on. Your children will ensure this." 

"Children? I can't have children!" Daenerys said tersely, as she lowered her head and turned away. 

"Nonsense. The Lord of Light didn't bring back one life. He brought back two." Kinvara exclaimed, as Daenerys' gaze snapped back to her. 

The realization hit her, as her hand went to her navel. _Could it be? Was Jon the one that would break the curse of that witch? Was it even a curse?_

"You need to eat, Daenerys Stormborn." Kinvara said as she rose and exited the room. 

Was it hope she felt now? Was it despair? Was she to bear this child alone? _Children_ the red priestess had said. _Am I carrying twins? She said two lives, mine and a child... How could there be more children... unless I will return to Jon..._ her thoughts trailed off. Hope sprung in her heart and she smiled weakly. She picked up the plate and began to eat. 

*********

Later that day, Kinvara returned, again with a meal of cooked fowl, an orange, bread and a small bowl of a thick purple concoction. She remembered this, but forgot what it had been called. Made of sweet beets, it had the thick consistency of honey add a sweetness to match. Covering it on bread was a favorite treat as a child when her and her brother spent time in Volantis. She ate willingly, as some small hope had returned. Thoughts swirled through her mind all day. The dream she had, was that a vision of what might have been? _A daughter?_

"If I am to bear more children, I have to return to Jon." Daenerys stated flatly as Kinvara entered her chambers. 

"Yes, but not now. It's only been a few weeks since... " she trailed off, not wanting to remind Daenerys. "He will return to the North."

She hadn't heard much news about Westeros, about what had happened after... after Drogon had taken her away.

"What can you tell me? What has happened there since... " Daenerys trailed off, eating more of the meat and bread that Kinvara had brought. 

"The Dothraki and Unsullied left the continent. A gathering of lords decided on leadership, and Bran was selected as their king". 

Daenerys coughed, almost inhaling the bit of stew she had been working on. 

"Bran?" she asked, surprised, wiping stew from her chin. 

"Yes. Odd it is... it was the dwarf who made the choice." 

"Tyrion..." Daenerys named him, her eyes narrowing with anger. 

"They are just starting to work toward establishing a new rule under Bran. For now, there will be some peace." 

Daenerys sighed, and the touch of anger she felt thinking of Tyrion, who had failed her and defied her repeatedly, faded as her thoughts shifted to one more important... 

"And Jon? Where is Jon? Is he OK?" she asked as she lowered her spoon back to the bowl. "Please tell me he is alright..." 

"He lives. They have decided to send him back to the wall. The Unsullied would not leave until they were satisfied that he had been punished in some measure for murdering their queen" Kinvara stated plainly, almost dismissively. 

"But he is alright? Do you know?" Daenerys asked as she raised her head a bit, her voice becoming more stern than it had been. _I have to know, is Jon well? Is he alright... is he... does he hate me now?_

"Jon lives and is well. The North is safe. The great Other is defeated, for now. Many died before he was stopped, and the people of the north are fewer. He will go beyond the wall with the freefolk and live peacefully." 

Daenerys sighed in relief, but a sadness still overcame her. _I want to go to him. I want to be with him. I_ need _to be with him._

"Not yet" Kinvara stated, as if to answer the thought she was just having. "You cannot return to him yet. The boy will see, and he will set stop you." 

"They see me as a threat?" she questioned. 

"Yes, but he cannot see you as long as you are here. He does not know you live. He cannot know yet." Kinvara solemnly stated.

"When? How long?" Daenerys asked, her voice sounding more like a child asking permission for something. 

"I know not, but it may be some time. Soon we will be able to move you out of this temple. There is a home outside of the temple that we are making to be protected by the Lord, so that you will not be seen. Soon." Kinvara said as she stood and moved toward the door to leave. 

"Eat well, the child needs it" 

The door closed, and Daenerys was left in silence. She looked at the stew and slowly ate more. Thoughts swirling in her mind. Hopes. Fears. Possibilities. _But when? How long do I have to be here? Will Jon even accept me if I return to him? Will he accept our child? After what I've done...._

****** 

"The time has come, my queen" Kinvara announced upon bringing a morning meal to Daenerys. It had been a week since the red priestess had mentioned leaving the temple. Daenerys had seen the temple before, as a child. She and her brother Viserys had spent time in Volantis, passed from house to house, sometimes having to scrape by as homeless. The place was hot and humid, with the stench of fish and dung frequently meeting the nose. 

It was also a slave city, with nearly four out of five inhabitants being slaves. The thought offended Daenerys and brought an anger up from deep inside. The institution was evil, and the masters who treated slaves as property were no better. She had to remind herself that now, there was nothing she could do about it. She knew some masters were good to their slaves, treating them almost as family, providing homes, food, clothes and care. Volantis was a city were this was more often than not the common status of slaves. It still did not sit well in her mind. She had fought and killed to free slaves. She had won the adoration of thousands. 

But now she had not the power or support, and Volantis would be more of a challenge than Yunkai or Meereen, even with the full armies she had. Daenerys had resigned herself to the fact that now, there were some things she just couldn't change. 

"I will give you some time to eat" Kinvara said as she set a plate of bread, fruit, small sausages with a small bowl of the sweet purple sauce down on the table along with a flagon of juice. "You will need to wear this as we leave." She laid a folded garment of dark cloth on the bed next to Daenerys. "No one can know you are here. The patrons you will house with are trusted followers of the Lord of Light, and will protect you." 

Daenerys ate slowly, contemplating what might happen from here. She is to stay with a lord in Volantis, likely a wealthy merchant. Many large houses in the eastern section of Volantis belong to families claiming to be of the old blood of Valeria, like the Targaryens. Only those who could be proven to be of the Old Blood were permitted within the Black Walls, a huge oval wall made of dragonstone, black and solid. 

Daenerys remembered the Black Wall, and the city from the time she lived and dwelled here. She was very young, and she mused on how things that once seemed so large long ago ended up being much smaller now that she had grown. She tried to remember any happy times she had in this city, but the memories would not avail her. The childhood she had lived was not rife with fond memories... except for the house with the red door and the lemon tree outside her window. She remembered Ser Willem Darry, her sweet old bear of a protector that brought her and her brother to Bravos to escape from the wrath of the usurper Robert Baratheon. She had happy times there, but they were not long lived. 

A short time later, she had eaten her meal and unfolded the garment that Kinvara had brought - a large, dark colored cloak with a deep hood. _This will not be comfortable_ she mused, as the city on the southern side of Essos would always be hot and humid. She opened the wooden box on the table next to the bed and took one of the dark ribbons, gathered her hair behind her head and tied it off in a loose pony tail. The door creaked open, revealing the red priestess, as Daenerys turned. Donning the cloak as Kinvara waited in the doorway, she scooped up the box, her only possession, and faced the door. 

Outside the temple, a massive complex of pillars, steps, towers and buttresses, the air was warm and humid, as she expected. The sky light with the late morning sun, obscured by a layer of grey clouds. Breezes blew from the south carrying the salt smell of the sea. Kinvara had taken her out of a side door to the massive temple complex, where waiting in the courtyard was a large _hathay,_ a large wheeled, and highly ornate carriage, big enough to carry half a dozen people comfortably awaited. Daenerys pulled the hood closer around her and moved toward the carriage, taking notice of the small elephant ahead of it, and the tall, thin, dark skinned man in naught but a loincloth and sandals, a wagon wheel tattooed on his cheek, opened the door for her and the priestess. The man would not look up at her or the priestess. _A slave servant._ The thought brought a feeling of disgust, and memories of the freedmen chanting 'mhysa!' 

The inside of the _hathay_ was as ornate and plush as the outside. Cushioned seats covered in gold, red, purple and other colored velvet and silk, the ceiling and pillars lined with a deep crimson silk. The driver closed the door behind them as they seated. Windows on either side, and on the rear, were covered with dark crimson, semi-translucent material, making it difficult to see outward, but probably impossible to see inward. Daenerys looked around at the lavishly appointed interior, both a bit in awe of how magnificent it was, yet also disgusted by how some could live with such luxury, while others wore sandals and loincloths. 

"You will be housed with Marqulo Tagaros, a merchant who is strong in the faith of the Lord" Kinvara told her. "He loves to boast that he was named after a grandfather that was once a triarch of this city, though he loathes politics. His wife Anvari loves to talk and converse." 

"Do they know... what I have done?" Daenerys asked, hesitating, a hint of shame in her question. 

"Yes, but they also know the Lord saw fit to bring you back. Your purpose is not complete on this world. They will treat you as an honored guest, and protect you as if you were their own child." Kinvara assured her. 

Half an hour, it seems, must have passed when she felt the _hathay_ turn. Her eyes drew to the window to her left, and she could see a large wood paneled gate open, then the high wall it was mounted to. Several more minutes passed as the carriage slowly lumbered forward. 

Kinvara peeled one of the window curtains open slightly to look out. "We're here." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeesh, this got long... and stay tuned, there's more! Gonna try to wrap up the flashback bit in one more chapter, then back to Jon and Daenerys.
> 
> I've got a destination in mind now... where this story is going to go. I hope it doesn't end up all cheesy. I'm mostly making note of this so when I do get through it all, I can come back and see my comments. 
> 
> At most, this is a fun project for me. I'd be pretty satisfied if people end up liking it... since this is really the first story I've ever written.


	5. Daenerys III

Daenerys III

The door to the _hathay_ opened, and Kinvara moved to exit, looking to Daenerys with a smile. Gathering up her few things, she climbed out and found herself in a vast courtyard, lined with neatly trimmed bushes, and small garden outcroppings along the high white colored stone walls. Glancing around, back to the gate, she estimated this estate must be half the size of Winterfell, if not larger. Thin towers reached skyward from the corners and the flanks of the gate. 

From her left approached a tall, slender man with short cropped light brown hair and light blue eyes, nearly 50 years in age, she estimated. Next to him, a slender woman with similar light blue eyes, and long silvery hair. Both were dressed in fine, yet not moderate clothing. 

Kinvara turned to her and announced them. "Marqelo Tagaros, and his wife Anvari" as she bowed slightly toward the pair. 

"Lady Kinvara!" the man greeted her returning her bow. The woman beside him did the same, echoing his greeting. 

Kinvara stepped closer to them as the _hathay_ driver closed the door and then led to move the large carriage on toward a large barn further along the pathway through the grounds. In quieter tones, the red priestess introduced their guest. "This, is Daenerys Stormborn of house Targaryen" 

It had been weeks, maybe months now since she had even thought of her name or titles. Kinvara nodded, looking at the hood of the cloak covering her head, to which Daenerys responded by lowering it. She bowed lightly and looked the pair before her. 

"Daenerys of house Targaryen, you are welcome here" the man said, his voice steady and confident. "My wife and I welcome you. The Lord of Light wills it. Our home is your home, as long as you shall need." 

"Thank you, lord" Daenerys replied, with a courteous smile. After a moment, her eyes continued to take in the sight of this magnificent estate. The main house was large, made of white stone similar to the walls, with slender pillars and arches surrounding the three levels with a gently sloped squared roof covered with thin, dark colored shingles that glinted in the sunlight, and broad open balconies, with a covered veranda around the base level. Large arched doorways lined each level all the way around with light colored wood doors, large windows and light colored sheer curtains gently swaying in the breeze. 

Kinvara turned back toward her and raised her hand, holding forth a small object wrapped in a dark silken cloth. "Keep this close to you. It will keep you unseen."

Daenerys took the object, gently opening the folds of the cloth revealing a pendant of a hexagonal shape made of an engraved dark gold, with a large ruby set into it. A simple black leather strand fastened to both sides, as if to be worn, much like the more ornate ruby chain necklace that Kinvara and Melisandre wore. The ruby seemed to glow slightly as she stared at it for a moment, then folded the cloth over it again.

"Within these walls as well, you will not be seen." the red priestess divulged.

"By the boy, Bran?" Daenerys asked quizzically. 

"Yes, his vision cannot reach into this place. Nor any other sorcery or magicks. The Lord of Light protects. I will visit from time to time. Before long, the child will be with us" 

The _hathay_ approached, and Kinvara bowed to the Tagaros' and Daenerys, then she climbed into the ornate carriage, giving Daenerys a smile as she closed the door, and the driver climbed to the buckboard and started the carriage forward. 

"Come, let us get you settled in" Anvari said, sweetly. Her demeanor more like a mother, than a host. Marquelo smiled, and dismissed himself to attend to his business. 

"Thank you for taking me in. Its all been... " Daenerys said to the matronly woman.

"Oh, it must be. Kinvara has told us everything. The Lord of Light guided you here, and we are honored to serve" Anvari replied, genuine honesty in her voice. 

"The high born of Volantis don't usually follow the Lord of Light" Daenerys inquired, more of a question than a statement. When she had lived in Volantis as a child, she remembered this. The followers of R'hllor were almost exclusively the slaves and low born peoples. The highborn that lived inside the great black wall, the descendants of Valyria, and mostly honored the polytheistic pantheon of Old Valyria. While she knew the power of the Lord of Light, having been brought back from death, and seeing the arakhs of her Dothraki screamers who charged the dead at Winterfell lit aflame, as well as Jon Snow... 

"No, we don't, but we have seen the power of the Lord of Light. Kinvara has showed us on many occasion, and we are honored to serve." Anvari almost musically responded. "oh, you are such a lovely thing, aren't you?" she proclaimed, stopping to look at Daenerys. A weak smile met the woman's statement. 

"I'll show you to your room, where you can relax. You've been through so much, dear." the woman cooed in a very motherly tone. Daenerys thought this an interesting position for this woman to take... after having ridden dragons and fought battles, to be treated as if she were this woman's child, though she welcomed it. The feeling helped remove the burdens she had felt being a queen, a leader. She felt that she didn't have to put on a mask anymore. She didn't have to pretend to be invulnerable. 

Entering the house, it was lavishly furnished with fine couches and chairs, tables of intricately carved wood. The walls lightly colored like the stone exterior. Paintings and tapestries spaced sparsely around the inside walls. A large stairway across from the entrance must have been wide enough for 10 people to walk up side by side. The steps were carved of light colored marble with streaks of black and grey, and the banisters made of finely carved wood, polished and shining. 

Ascending the steps, she was led along the large open landing toward the front of the house, and into a room that must have been large enough to fit half a dozen of the large _hathay_ carriages in. A large bed was situated against the wall to her right, with large spiral carved posts on each corner, with fine wood tables flanking it. A large wardrobe of dark wood, nearly twice as tall as her stood against the wall to the right. The far wall and left walls being on the exterior, were lined with thin, tall pillars with arches stretching between them, the pairs of doors open, and lightly colored sheer curtains were gently blowing in the wind. A small round table with four high backed wooden chairs stood near the middle of the room, a large bowl with fruits placed in its center. The floor was of fine marble, with richly colored carpets laid out next to the bed, under the table and in the open area to the left. On the far side of the bed, a narrow vanity was set against the wall, a large oval mirror in place. 

"Settle in, and make yourself at home. You are welcome here." Anvari said in a motherly tone, smiling to Daenerys. She smiled in return, and looked to the room, her hand lowering to her navel. She could feel the swell as her child grew. _Our child_ she thought, her mind bringing an image of Jon to her again. His smile, his scent, his touch, she thought of and smiled, but the ache of his absence soon drove the joy from her mind. 

***** 

Weeks again passed. Marquelo Tagaros and his wife were lovely people, she had thought every time they conversed. Marquelo was a merchant, dealing in spice and silk from the far east, trading with other free cities and ports in Westeros. She wondered if he had ever been to King's Landing... and what he would think of it now. The Red Keep mostly in ruin and much of the city. He never mentioned, and she never asked. 

They had two sons, both older than she, who were out in the world making their own way. Often they represented their father in trade and sailed aboard ships carrying his merchandise. Marquelo was obviously proud of them, as was their mother. 

Daenerys had explored the house and the grounds, learning where everything was. The gardens in the rear of the house were beautiful. Flowering bushes and fruit trees often overpowered the slight salt and fish smell of the city. She enjoyed sitting in the garden often, watching the clouds pass, eating fresh fruits picked from the trees directly. Apples, plums, and oranges. There were several lemon trees, too, which brought back memories of Bravos again. This place was pleasant, welcoming and felt safe to her. 

_I don't deserve this._ She often lamented. The dreams came to her, though less frequently, and the thought of Jon Snow was frequently at the forefront of her mind. Some days, the longing felt like a hand squeezing her chest, making it hard for her to breathe. Those days, she would cry and stay in her bed until late in the day. She had conversed with Anvari about Jon before. It took a while, but Anvari's motherly demeanor and concern brought Daenerys to open up. Anvari liked to reassure her that this Jon Snow must be thinking of her, too, even if he didn't know she yet lived. The way Daenerys described their meeting on Dragonstone, the way Jon reacted to her, strong minded and unyielding. The way she described his concern for his people, for all the people. While it annoyed her at first, she couldn't help but respect his bravery and strength. She recalled how he almost sacrificed himself north of the wall, and how she felt her heart aching, waiting on that wall for him to return. Seeing his scars, knowing that Ser Davos was not exaggerating when he said Jon had given his life for the people. 

Anvari always smiled, telling her this was a love that was the making of songs and legends, however this only made Daenerys think about how she thought she had lost that love and how it drove her to the horrible end. She would almost always have dreams that either haunted her or left her in a melancholy state for days after conversations like this with Anvari. And it seems the woman had noticed, trying to observantly speak of other things with Daenerys. 

The baby was growing more and more, and Daenerys could feel her womb swell, and her body changing. She wondered how long it would be until her daughter, _their_ daughter would be born. 

Filling the time, she had taken to assisting in the kitchen, among the slave servants of the house. Though they didn't seem much like slaves to her. The Tagaros family treated them well. A smaller house at the back of the complex was well built, clean and comfortable for the dozen or so that lived and served the family. Even the _hathay_ driver had a decent room, and would wear good clothing when he was not needed. While she still loathed the thought of slavery, she couldn't help but think the ones here were not unhappy. It was only small consolation. It was still a wheel that rolled over most of them. She tried not to think about it much, as it only reached into her heart and sparked an anger she had tried to suppress, to forget. 

Anvari also loved to sew and make clothes, not only for herself, but for her servants. She made several fine dresses for Daenerys, cleverly designing folds and proportions for the mother-to-be as the child grew ever more. Daenerys had sat with her for many hours, learning the skills of a seamstress. _I never would have thought I would make my own clothes_ she mused frequently. This second life had been humbling to her. 

_He would probably think I look ridiculous_ she would think, when she looked at herself in the mirror of the vanity, turning to see the swell of her womb. _No, he would think me beautiful, carrying our child._ The truth of the man he was wouldn't let her think otherwise. _He would be a... he WILL be a good father. I know he will love our children more than life itself_ she assured herself.

*******

More weeks had passed, her womb growing larger. Her feet ached after walking anywhere, and she had to use her chamber pot more frequently than she would have liked. Anvari doted on her, not having had a daughter of her own, bringing her food and fruit while she mostly rested in bed or sat at the table, reading various books from the small library of the house. 

This day, the sky was dark and the winds strong. There had been storms before, though they were usually short lived. This felt different. The servants had moved furniture from outside in the gardens into the barn and shuttered the doors. Chairs, tables and other items that sat on the balconies and veranda were moved inside and most of the doors shut. 

_This is the day_ she thought. Contractions had been coming over the last few days, but today, they were more frequent, as her body readied to bring her daughter into the world. Anvari had brought in several midwives and a healer in preparation. Her room was prepared, a basin stood next to the bed with fresh clean water and cloths. 

Daenerys was scared, she remembered the pain she felt with Rhaego, who came too soon when the witch had worked blood magic on her husband, Drogo. This pain was familiar, yet didn't seem as severe. 

The weather turned worse, rain started, lightly at first, increasing to a downpour. Bolts of lightning flashed across the sky in rapid succession across the city and the bay, the following thunder echoing across the city, shaking the doors. _This must have been like my birth, 'stormborn'_ she imagined. 

Labor came quickly, as the storm raged outside. Thunder sometimes masking her moans and screams. It seemed like hours to her, feeling the baby start to enter the world. She yelled as the pain overwhelmed her. She cried for Jon, as her heart ached knowing that he wouldn't see his child come into the world. 

A peal of thunder shook the house, and a high shriek filled the sky. Daenerys looked up, she knew what that sound was. Her other child, her dragon, had sensed her pain. More thunder, and shrieks from the dragon echoed in the sky. 

_Go, Drogon, I am fine. I am not in danger..._ she thought, knowing that her connection to the dragon would understand, though she continued to hear him crying for her as he circled over the city. 

Then the sound of her child crying for the first time came to her, she knew her daughter was almost completely in this world, and her cries let her know the baby was alive and well. Tears filled her eyes as she looked down, seeing her child, her daughter, as one of the midwives held the babe up for her to see. Patches of wispy dark hair were already on her head and her eyes were dark and brown _like her father's._ But something was amiss... 

Her vision seemed to go dark, then come back. The midwives muttered something she couldn't quite hear, one of them running out of the room. She felt light headed and couldn't keep her eyes open. She heard thunder and heard Drogon cry in the sky again, almost close enough to be outside the window. She tried to look toward the doors. 

She heard people rush into the room. Looking toward the door, she saw the healer, and Anvari rush into the room. "Water, a needle and thread, NOW" the healer called. She heard the baby cry to her left and tried to see where she was. One of the midwives was cleaning the child with the clean cloths next to the basin. Daenerys tried to call for her child, to reach for her, but she couldn't lift her arms. 

She heard Drogon cry loudly, and then everything faded to darkness. 

******

The wind rattled the doors gently. Voices murmured close by. The scent of blood was mixed among others... then a cry, a baby crying... 

Her eyes opened slowly as she tried to get her bearings. She was still in the bed, lying on her back. The scent of rain on the breeze met her, then the slight metallic hint of blood. She blinked and took measure of herself. Her head hurt, her body ached, but her womb and birth canal felt numb for some reason. Turning her head, she saw Anvari seated next to the bed, holding a bundle. _my child, my daughter._ Tears welled up in her eyes as she inhaled and tried to speak. Her throat was dry and she only managed a weak croak. 

Anvari looked up at her and smiled. "Your daughter is beautiful, Daenerys," she said with a smile. 

She still felt weak for some reason, barely able to move her arms. She wanted to reach for the child. She needed the child. She needed to feel her babe close to her. 

Anvari must have sensed this, and stood, gently lowering the babe to Daenerys' chest. She then helped her sit up, moving pillows to cushion her back. 

She looked down at the face of her daughter. _our daughter_ she once again thought, quickly looking around the room, hoping against all odds that Jon would be there. His absence again felt like a weight on her heart. Their daughter, their miracle, had been born. Her beautiful pale face, the wisps of dark hair. She was asleep. Daenerys' eyes welled with tears as she leaned her head down to kiss the babe. 

"Lyanna" she said. "your name is Lyanna." she whispered, and sobbed with joy, relief and pain. _I know your father will love you when he sees you._

"Lyanna, that is a beautiful name for a beautiful daughter" Anvari said quietly. The midwives who had helped bring the baby into the world were still present, as was the healer. 

The healer, a thin man of moderate height and middle age, wearing a grey robe stepped forward and spoke. "You lost a lot of blood birthing your daughter. I was able to stop the bleeding. You'll feel pain and discomfort for at least a few days. You'll need to stay in bed" he said sternly, almost fatherly in his concern. "Your child is perfectly healthy and strong. She'll need to feed soon, and you need to drink. You'll need fluids in you as soon as possible." he cautioned. 

One of the midwives brought a tall gold cup to Daenerys. Taking a sip, she knew it was a lemonade made with the sweet beet honey that she loved to eat on her bread. The drink was sweet, and refreshing. She stared at her beautiful daughter, taking sips from the cup every few minutes. The midwives and the healer left the room, and Anvari turned to follow.

"Thank you" she said to the matronly woman who had watched over her this night. The woman turned and smiled, then left the room. 

A short time later, Lyanna stirred and opened her eyes. She looked up at her mother with curious eyes, seeing her for the first time. 

"Hello, little one," Daenerys cooed at her. The babe stared up at her and yawned, her mouth moving in all directions. This made her mother smile, watching every movement. A short cry emerged from the babe. 

"Let's see if we can get you fed, my love," Daenerys whispered, moving her arm and the child to bring her to her breast. 

******

Months had passed, Daenerys never far from her growing daughter. The black hair on Lyanna's head filling in, and her dark eyes taking in all the sights and wonderment of a world new to her. _She's so quiet_ Daenerys often thought, which reminded her of how Jon would often be quiet in his thoughts. He seemed to consider his words before he spoke, and she wondered if their daughter would be the same. _She will be intelligent and wise_ she decided. 

Often books from the library of the house would be stacked in small piles on the desk in her capacious room. Daenerys would read to Lyanna in both the common tongue and Valyrian, deciding her daughter would be schooled in both. _If only Missandei could be here, she could teach so much,_ she lamented. The thought of her friend and confidant came to her from time to time, but thinking of her brought forth the anger again. The anger that roiled in her after the evil Cersei Lannister had executed Missandei in front of her, and Grey Worm, the man who had loved her. She had to calm herself every time her friend crossed her mind. 

One day, after Marquelo had been away for a few weeks attending to business, he returned with a gift, a book from Westeros about the history of the Targaryen dynasty. Daenerys read it with interest, finding that it must have been written half a century ago, before her grandfather, Jaehaerys II had died, and her father ascended to the throne. It was Jaehaerys I, the Conciliator or The Wise King he was called. The fourth Targaryen to sit the Iron Throne, and the longest. Over fifty years he reigned, and it was a period of peace and prosperity. _A lot happened since then_ she thought. Her father, Aeres II, was the seventeenth Targaryen _and I would have been the eighteenth_ she mused. _I failed... I failed my family, the people... I failed Jon..._ she thought when she reflected on what she thought she wanted to be... and what she ended up becoming. 

The book made her wonder about her legacy. _What would it be? Will it be with Jon, and more children, like Kinvara implied? How will we live?_ A thousand questions weighed on her mind, but with great effort, she silenced the thoughts, and concentrated on Jon. _How will I get back to Jon? When? Will he even accept me? Will he hate me?_ Different questions replaced the previous, and she found it to be even more of a burden on her heart and in her mind. 

She would hold their daughter, and whisper soft things to her, describing her father, wishing beyond all hope that he would walk through the door and join her. She knew it was but a wish, a dream. 

*******

Almost three years had passed. Lyanna was sometimes a handful, loving to run and play. Daenerys and Anvari had made her dolls that she loved to play with. Daenerys was teaching her to read the common tongue, which was a bit slow going. While Lyanna was well behaved, she would usually rather run around the gardens, sometimes chasing cats that frequented the yards. Anvari doted on the child, and loved watching her run around and play. Singing songs to her as she bounced on her lap. Daenerys wondered if this is what _her_ mother would have been like, had things been different, and the world not so cruel. 

Another gathering would take place at the house this evening, as the Tagaros' hosted from time to time. Heads of Volantene families would visit, and great feasts would be had. Musicians would play music and dancers would dance. Marquelo would introduce Daenerys as the daughter of a cousin of his from Pentos to hide her identity. Luckily in Volantis, she didn't stand out very much, with so much of the high born population being descended from Valyria. 

This night, she wore a dress of light colored material, crossed across her chest and long to the floor, like she would wear when she housed and ruled from the great pyramid in Meereen. She tried not to mingle too long, mostly choosing to dismiss herself early with the excuse of attending her child. Among the gathering this night, though, while conversing with Anvari and several other matrons from other houses, she caught the eyes of man who seemed familiar. He had short cropped brown hair and dark eyes, with a short dark beard. _Yezzan,_ she remembered. He was spared when the Masters attacked Meereen from the bay, when the three demanded her surrender, and she turned the tables on them, burning their fleet with her dragons. 

She tried to look away, and make excuse to leave. Setting her glass of wine down on a table to make for the stairway, she turned, and he stood before her. 

"Queen Daenerys" he said slyly. Her eyes opened wide. 

"I am not... " she tried to explain, stepping to move past him toward the stairs. 

He grabbed her arm and stopped her, leaning in close to whisper "the Sons of the Harpy do not forget... " and then let her go, turning to watch her ascend the stair rapidly. She turned to regard him at the turn at the top of the stairway, and he smirked at her again. 

Panic overcame her, walking hurriedly to her room to check on Lyanna. A slave girl, Loerris, was playing with her and her dolls on the end of the bed. Daenerys walked quickly to the bed and scooped Lyanna up and embraced her. Loerris could see the worry on her face, but left the room quietly when Daenerys had assured her that all was well. 

"We'll need to leave soon" she whispered to the girl, sitting her on the edge of the bed. 

"Go bye bye?" Lyanna questioned, a look of wonderment on her face. She had never been outside of the grounds of this great house. 

"Yes, my sweet. We will need to leave soon." 

She held her daughter again, and this night locked the door to the room, closing all of the outside doors and securing them as well. Sleep was not restful, as she feared the worst. While she knew it would be unlikely that, even if the Sons of the Harpy were still active in Meereen, they wouldn't be able to get to Volantis within a few weeks, she would not chance her daughter's life. 

In the morning, she prepared her things. Visiting the room that Marquelo used for business, his travel accouterments kept within, she retrieved a satchel and a rolled blanket, then returned to her quarters. She layed out some clothes, including a pair of riding breeches and an accompanying dress she had made. She knew she may need such attire again, and had prepared accordingly. Several small outfits for Lyanna were laid out. 

Anvari entered and looked over the items laid out on the bed quizzically. "What is this, my dear?"

"I can't stay. A man from Meereen recognized me last night... not a man who was fond of me." Daenerys worriedly explained. 

"How will you leave? It will take time to prepare passage on a ship... and of course we will help." 

Daenerys turned to her, confidently smiling. "I will fly." 

******

_I need you now, Drogon. Come to me. We need you. I have to leave this place... it's not safe._ Daenerys reached out. Drogon had come to her when she was in danger before, in the fighting pits of Meereen. The bond between dragon and rider was strong, but she feared he may be far away. Valyria, maybe? She didn't know, but she remembered he returned the night of Lyanna's birth. _He must be able to feel my need..._

Her belongings packed in the satchel, the small box with the brush and mirror, the pendant Kinvara gave her tucked inside. Lyanna's extra clothes, a few other bits and items. She obtained some bread and salted meats, and a few oranges from the kitchens. 

Then she waited. Nervously, she waited in her room as the day ran on. Lyanna wanted to run around and play with her dolls, but Daenerys would not let her get far. She ate her midday meal at the table in her room, thinking to Drogon again. 

Hours passed and the sky grew darker. She thought to Drogon again. _I need you, my child, we need you...._

As the sky turned to red with the setting sun, she heard it. The familiar cry of her great black dragon. 

Standing and running to the window, she could see Drogon circle across the city, then swoop low over the wall, stopping and lowering himself into the courtyard in front of the great house. 

Daenerys went to the bed quickly, scooped up the satchel and a wineskin full of water, then to the table where Lyanna was sitting on a chair. 

"we go mommy?" the girl asked with wide eyes and a huge smile. 

"yes, my sweet, we go now. Get your favorite doll!" she said lovingly, taking a moment to slow, and watch her daughter run to the bed, grabbing a doll that Anvari had made. It was a small girl with red hair in a blue dress. She loved that doll, sleeping with it every night. 

"Come now, we have to go". 

Marquelo and Anvari stood nervously on the veranda at the front of the house, in awe of the great black dragon standing in the courtyard in front of them. They had never seen such a magnificent and terrifying beast, almost refusing to believe they even existed, but here before them, the last dragon in the world, turned and paced, looking at them, at the house, looking for his mother

Daenerys stopped next to the pair, who were stunned into silence. She stood before them.

"Thank you, I cannot thank you enough. You have kept me safe and housed me and my daughter. I can never repay you." she said with a tear in her eye. She had come to love these people, and they her. 

"oh, dearest" Anvari softly responded "it has been our pleasure, our honor, to have you and Lyanna here with us." 

Daenerys stepped toward her and gave the matronly woman a kiss on the cheek and a hug, then the same to Marquelo. 

"Thank you again. I will never forget you." she said, pausing for a moment to look at each of them one more time, to commit their faces to memory. Then she turned and strode toward Drogon. 

"Doe gone!" Lyanna loudly shouted pointing at the dragon, wonderment in her eyes. 

"Yes, this is Drogon," her mother replied, smiling at the reaction of her child. Walking up to the great dragon, and pausing for a moment to let Drogon take them in. Drogon's massive head turned and snaked toward her, Lyanna reaching out with her hand. 

"This is your sister, Drogon. Lyanna. Now you must take us to safety. West to Dragonstone. Do you understand?" 

The dragon huffed, and lowered his shoulder, allowing Daenerys to climb on. She took the satchel across her back, and with a long cloth withdrawn from it, she wrapped it around Lyanna, crossing her chest, then tied it. 

"Hold on to mommy, OK?" she said, smiling down to Lyanna"

"OK mommy" the girl replied. 

" _Sōvēs_ " she said out loud, and Drogon stood on his legs, reached his leathery wings out and leaped into the sky. With massive beats of his wings, dirt and dust swirling in the courtyard, the dragon climbed higher and higher. Daenerys turned to see Marquelo and Anvari waving from the veranda. She could see people in the streets stopping and staring in awe, as the dragon flew west toward the setting sun. 

****** 

Nearly a full day they had flown. Stopping to land in the Disputed Lands at the western edge of Essos, to eat, drink, and... take care of other human needs. Though the flying made her thighs and her back sore, Lyanna seemed to enjoy the sensation, going from pure giddy joy, giggling as Drogon launched himself from the ground, to simply falling asleep to the gentle thrum of his massive wings. 

In the distance, the sun close to setting, she saw the island destination she had planned. Dragonstone. The huge castle climbing skyward from the southern tip of the island. She wanted to stay high up, so that she could take the lay of the land. She had no idea if anyone were occupying the castle. Surely Maester Pylos and a small number of stewards would be there to keep the castle and grounds. Circling high, she could see no ships at anchor, no skiffs or small boats at the beach. No banners hung from the gates or the walls. She could see no activity, no people. The castle seemed dark and unwelcoming. 

They had to land, to rest. Perhaps they would find provisions in the great keep. Perhaps some of her belongings had remained, if no one had ventured there to claim them, or remove them. 

She had Drogon land near the cliffs, where she had landed before. She was reminded of Jon, whom Drogon had approached. The surprise of the dragon allowing him close, allowing him to touch his snout. She knew there was something different about Jon Snow, and that moment was one of several that drew her to him. 

Dismounting with Lyanna lashed to her, she took a moment to unbind the child and bid Drogon go find something to eat for himself, and to rest. They would stay at least the night here. 

It was almost dusk, and the keep seemed dark. She would have to hurry to get inside before it was too dark. 

"scary pace" Lyanna said as they walked toward the keep. 

"Yes, it looks scary, but this is where mommy lived. Mommy was born here" Daenerys said looking down at her daughter, holding her hand as they walked. 

The gate she had entered and exited from to access the cliffs many times before was open. Taking a torch from a sconce inside the gate, she fished in her satchel until she found a flint and steel, then struck it several times at the torch, having to make sure her curious daughter didn't get too close. After a half dozen tries, the torch took light. Tucking the flint and steel away, she picked the torch up, then took Lyanna's hand in her free hand. She entered the main hall, finding it dark. Torchlight dancing off of the dark stone pillars, and the throne at the opposite end of the hall, carved out of the rock of the island itself. 

She went past the throne to the side room, to the Chamber of the Painted Table. The large table, cut of wood and painted to represent a map of Westeros took up a large portion of the room. Open pillared windows on the far side let the sound and smell of the ocean in. She lifted Lyanna up onto one of the chairs so she could stand and see the map on the great table. Holding the torch over it to provide light, she looked over the map, and then walked around the table. She looked to Winterfell on the map, and thought of Jon. The battle they had fought against the Night King... the nights they had spent together before that, and the night he stopped coming to her chambers. She didn't understand this, but soon after learning about his parentage, she understood. He never said what was on his mind. _Perhaps I could have helped him, we could have gotten past it together. Perhaps if I didn't react as if his identity was a threat..._ she lamented. 

"Mommy" Lyanna said from across the table. "mommy" she implored again. 

"Yes my sweet?" she responded with a smile as she stepped around the table to rejoin her daughter. 

"I hungry" the girl said. 

Daenerys picked up the satchel and set it on the huge table, opening it up and removing a large chunk of bread wrapped in a cloth, and an orange. She spread the cloth out on the table, tore a small chunk of the bread to give to her daughter, then peeled an orange, breaking it into wedges. 

"Stay here, my sweet, I'll be right back" she said. She lit several torches around the room, then took one out of the sconce and started walking toward the bedchambers she had stayed in while she was on Dragonstone. Entering the dark room, she could see nothing had been removed. Her clothes in the chest next to the bed, her oils, brushes and other things on the vanity against the wall. The chairs next to the fireplace. She stopped for a moment and thought of Jon, standing before her in front of this fire place. _If he had embraced me then, if he had kissed me, if he had accepted me, I think I would have done anything he asked of me... I needed him..._ she stood there in silence for a few moments, then went to the stand next to the bed. There was still a capped decanter of wine and several glasses. She raised the decanter and smelled the wine. It was still good. She took two of the glasses and the decanter and headed back to the Painted Table. 

Panic almost choked her as she entered. Standing opposite of the table was a dark haired man in a dark robe, a chain made of different shaped links hanging around his neck. _Maester Pylos_ she recalled. The previous maester had passed when Stannis Baratheon was still occupying this keep. 

"Maester Pylos" she said as she resumed walking forward. 

"Your.... grace?" he stammered, surprise widening his eyes. He stood there, unable to say anything further. 

"I am not... not 'your grace' anymore..." she replied, walking up to the table next to Lyanna, who was chewing on an orange wedge, as if nothing were amiss. 

"You... you were... you're not... " he stammered again.

"I was. And then I was not."

"But... Jon Snow... he... " still, Pylos had difficulty getting his thoughts out.

"He did. And I was brought back in Volantis" she responded, taking a little amusement at the maester's shock and inability to form a sentence. 

"But... how?" his brow furrowed in confusion.

"I was dead, and a red priestess brought me back" she said plainly, taking the glasses and rinsing them out with some water from her wineskin, then pouring some to hand it to Lyanna. Keeping her own hand on the fine glass, she raised it and her daughter took a long, deep drink. 

"I am not as I was. What I did..." she turned her head down. "I am not as I was. I am not here to... " she expressed. 

"No? What now? Why would you come here?" Pylos implored, regaining some of his stature. 

"I couldn't stay where I was. It wasn't safe for me, or for my daughter." She looked up at him, seeing him look from her to the small child, then back. 

"Your daughter? You were with child?" he questioned further. 

"Yes. Jon Snow is her father. Please, can you tell me where he is? Do you know?" she pleaded

Concern shown on her face, and Pylos recognized. 

"The last I heard, he was sent to the wall. He lives north of the wall, among the remaining freefolk. It has been some time since any news has been had." he explained, taking a seat at the table. Daenerys did the same, reaching for the bread to take a chunk. She was quite hungry, but needed to make sure Lyanna had eaten first. The child sat quietly, looking from her mother to the man in robes across the table. 

"This is Jon Snow's daughter. I need to find him." she explained. "I didn't know I was with child when... before..." 

"I could send a raven to Winterfell, or to King's Landing. The maester Samwell is a friend of Jon Snow's, so I hear."

"No, no one can know that I am here... I don't know what they'll do" she said worriedly. 

"You were always kind to me" he said softly. "I couldn't believe when I heard..." 

"I did something... unspeakable... I intended to do it again, to level that power at anyone who opposed me... but Jon stopped me... he... " she trailed off, her eyes lowering. 

"He killed you, and the dragon flew off with your body. That's what I've heard."

"Yes" she replied, still not able to look up. "I am not the same. I don't want that. I just need to find Jon." she looked up to Pylos. 

"I will help you if I can." the maester declared, regarding Daenerys with a weak smile. He had seemed like a very perceptive young maester when they had met several years ago, when Daenerys had reclaimed Dragonstone. It had been abandoned, all but for the maester and a handful of stewards. 

"You should rest, milady, you look quite tired. And the child." 

"Yes, I'll take my old chambers for now. I don't think we'll be staying long" she replied.

"I'll bring food in the morning, and help you prepare. It's a long way north." he stated with a nod, then rose and walked out of the room. 

She finished a few bites of bread and sipped a glass of wine, watching Lyanna stand on the chair again to regard the huge map table. After a short while, she carried Lyanna to her old chambers, lit a few candles and prepared for sleep. _It is so quiet in the place now, please let my mind be as quiet this night_ she hoped. The memories of this place returned to her. Meeting Jon Snow in the great hall, conversations on the stairway outside, the cave of dragonglass... it all came back to her. 

The dream came back to her that night as well. She woke in a cold sweat, and after calming herself, tried to find peace in the feeling of her small daughter sleeping next to her in the large bed. 

*******

In the morning, she took stock of the room, rummaging through the chest that held her clothing. She took a few items, but decided she really didn't need any of this any longer. Lyanna woke with a curious mood, wanting to run around and explore, causing her mother to chase her around more than she would have liked. 

Pylos brought hot meals to the Painted Table in the morning. Cooked meats, eggs and bread. Provisions were laid out on the table, and Daenerys took what she could fit in her satchel, and filled her wineskin with fresh water from the jug that the maester had brought. 

"Please, Pylos, tell no one that I was here" she implored before leaving. 

"I will not volunteer it, but if I'm asked... I cannot lie." he responded. 

"Fair enough. Thank you for the hospitality." 

"Fare well, milady, and you too, young Lyanna" he said resolutely to the pair as they walked back to the cliffs, where Drogon awaited. 

Shortly, they were in the air, flying north. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shew, this got long! Guess I wanted to fill in a lot of the back story. This isn't to be taken as Daenerys explaining this all to Jon, this is just her experience after being brought back. The next couple chapters will be back with her and Jon, bringing him up to speed, and establishing where they are together. Then we'll get more movement.


	6. Jon III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An important conversation

Jon III

_Mama..._

The quiet, tiny voice echoed in his mind. _Mama_ again echoed. His eyes raised to the dimly lit cabin, embers from the fire glowing in a faint red light. He could smell lavender and rose... _Daenerys' hair always smelled of rose and lavender..._

"Mama" the small voice said, as Jon raised his head, Daenerys' head lay in front of him, her warm body against him. There standing by the bed, the tiny girl, his daughter, trying to quietly wake her mother. 

"Daenerys" he whispered into her ear, giving her hand a squeeze. Her head moved so she could look up at him, her eyes still heavy with sleep. 

"Lyanna, are you OK, love?" she said softly to the child.

"Cold" the little girl said with a frown on face. Jon couldn't help but smile. Daenerys lifted the blanket and reached for the child, swinging her diminutive body sideways to bring her close. 

"ooh, you are cold, aren't you" she cooed wrapping her arms around the child. Jon moved his arm under Daenerys' and felt their child squirming a bit as she tried to warm up. 

_Family... this is my family now._ He mused. Lyanna stopped moving after a few moments, then Daenerys sighed. Jon stayed awake as long as he could just to take it in, the thought of his family in his arms, safe and warm. The thought comforted him so, his thoughts melted away and his mind stilled until sleep took him.. 

*******

It was a peaceful sleep for him this night, with no dreams of fire, no dreams of her, for she was right here next to him. He slept well past the sunrise, it’s light piercing the small gaps in the boards of the shuttered window that faced the east, above the bed. The air was still cool and crisp with the light scent of wood smoke, and the pleasantness of lavender and rose of Daenerys’ beautiful hair. 

She stirred in his arms, inhaling deeply and letting out a long sigh as she squeezed his hand. He felt a movement and heard a soft giggle under the blanket. Daenerys had moved her hand to their daughter and gave her a playful tickle.  
  
“Are you awake, my little dragon rider?” she said softly.

“No, sleepy!” the child protested quietly before letting out a giggle. She flipped the blanket from over her face and looked up at her mother. Jon raised his head and looked down at Lyanna who froze as she met his gaze. Jon couldn’t help but smile. 

“Can you say ‘good morning daddy?’” 

Lyanna stayed still for a few seconds just staring up at him before a playful smile crossed her face and she spit out “goodmorningdaddy!” and giggled again. Daenerys hugged her close as she kissed the girl’s forehead repeatedly. Jon’s smile almost hurt his face, he realized. _I still can’t believe this is real. Surely I’ll wake up at any moment to find my cabin still empty…_

Deanerys pushed back into him, turning her head up toward him. “I wish we could just stay like this forever… just us, just our family…” 

“Aye, it would be a dream, one I’d hope to never wake from.” Jon replied, and kissed her cheek. 

She sat up in bed, picking the little girl up onto her lap. Jon sat up next to her, taking in the sight of mother and daughter sitting next to him. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile so much, Jon Snow.” Daenerys mused, reaching her hand up to touch his face. 

“Before, we were in hard times… there wasn’t much to smile about. But now…” he blinked as he looked at her and their daughter. Then he stood and moved to the hearth next to the head of the bed and knelt down to place a couple small logs on the embers. The morning was still cold, but not freezing. _Cold for a southern girl_ he thought. 

“Let’s get you dressed, my love” 

Jon glanced over to Daenerys, then quickly back to the fire he was stoking. 

“Not you Jon, I think you can dress yourself!” Daenerys let out with a laugh. Jon smiled and shook his head.  
“Aye, I’ve been dressing myself since my 13th Name Day!” he jokingly replied, which got a laugh from her. Lyanna even chuckled, although Jon wasn’t sure she would understand the humor. His siblings, cousins, were not all that much younger than he, so he hadn’t been around children that often. _Will I be a good father? Do I even know how?_ He questioned. 

Deanerys went to her knapsack and produced a tiny light colored woolen dress, then dressed Lyanna with it, while the little girl giggled. Next a matching pair of breeches, which she helped the child into, one leg at a time. Jon watched, the smile never leaving his face, as he pulled on his own breeches and pulled his tunic over his head. 

Daenerys dressed herself, catching Jon’s eye several times. She removed the small wooden box from her satchel and placed it down on the table to the side of the fireplace, opening it and removing a long red colored ribbon. Jon saw her hesitate, her hand finding another object on the table… a leather sheath, just long enough for _the dagger I killed her with…_ a slight moment of guilt flashed through him as she looked at the object. She knew what it was, pausing for just a second, then placing it back down on the table without a word. She took her long hair in her hands and tied it loosely in the rear, most of it hanging freely over her shoulders and down her back. 

“We’ll see about some breakfast, eh?” Jon said kneeling down to his daughter. She stood and stared sheepishly at him for a moment. _Maybe she’s not comfortable with me?_ He studied her face, smiling at her to try to make her more comfortable. She smiled back at him. 

“She may be a bit shy at first, but she’ll open up,” the young mother mused. 

Jon smiled up to Daenerys as she stepped toward the child, and scooped her up. Jon moved to open the door and the slight rush of cool fresh air greeted them. He stepped out and turned to watch the mother and child follow. Ghost sat to his side, waiting for his friend and family to greet him. 

“Good morning, Ghost” Jon said, smiling. Ghost stood and moved to Jon’s side, butting his head against Jon’s hand, receiving a loving scratch in return. Daenerys stood next to Jon, where both she and the child could take in the sight of the massive wolf. 

Jon lead Daenerys and their daughter to the center of the small village, where a large ring of stones marked a communal fire pit. Larger stones and short logs of wood stood at a short distance from the ring, providing seating. The unfinished great hall stood on the far side of the center ring. A dozen or more small cabins with a few lean-to and animal skin tents radiated outward from the center.  
  
Daenerys took a seat on one of the large tree stumps, setting Lyanna down on the ground in front of her to let the child stand and explore a bit on her own two feet. Ghost sat next to Daenerys and watched the child, like an attentive parent. Jon observed this standing close by, and smiled, _Ghost knows his family, his pack._  
  
From the far side of the stone ring, two young girls approached, the taller being around 12 years old with long, dark curly hair and dark blue eyes, and the other with long light brown hair and brown eyes, both dressed in simple rough spun wool dresses and fur jerkins, common for the Freefolk. 

“Good morning, Brenna, Sigrid. This is.. “ Jon greeted the two young girls, and turned to indicate his family. “This is Daenerys, and this is our daughter, Lyanna.” 

“Daughter? Since when do you have a daughter, Jon?” the taller girl, Brenna inquired with a curious look.  
  
“It’s a bit of a long story, eh? I’ll tell you about it someday.” Jon responded.  
  
Ghost stood on all four and wagged his tail. The girls were familiar to him, and loved to shower him with rubs and scratches.  
  
“Good morning, Brenna, Sigrid.” Daenerys greeted the two girls as they approached, with no timidity at all. “Lyanna, can you say ‘good morning’?” 

Lyanna looked to her mother, then to the two girls who had stopped to stand nearby. She stood silently for a moment, then responded, “good mornin” quietly.  
  
_She’s a bit shy, but they’ll win her over._ Jon thought, smiling at the introductions being made. _Introducing my family to people… something I never imagined would happen._

Daenerys smiled up at Jon, who returned the smile. More villagers were stirring from their cabins, several inside the unfinished great hall. The smell of cooking bacon and baking bread wafted through the air. Inside the great hall, a stone fire pit and stone oven had been erected. Several of the village women were working around the pit and stove. 

Brenna stepped close to Ghost and gave him an enthusiastic scratching around his uneven ears. Ghost loved the attention and angled his head toward the affection.  
  
“Have you pet Ghost yet, Lyanna?” the girl asked. Lyanna shook her head, looking up toward the massive wolf.  
  
Daenerys looked up to Jon, who gave her a smile and a nod. “Go ahead, my love, Ghost won’t hurt you.” she said down to the small child. 

Lyanna moved forward as Ghost turned his massive head to regard her, and sniff her. The child hesitated for a moment, but Daenerys’ hand went to her back, giving her gentle assurance. Ghost’s snout was just inches from Lyanna’s face as she reached up timidly and touched it, feeling the soft white fur. Ghost leaned his head down closer, almost as if bowing to the small girl in front of him. She reached up with both hands and patted the top of his head. He lifted his snout again and licked Lyanna’s face.

The girl giggled, as did Daenerys and the two girls. Ghost’s long tongue was almost as wide as the child’s face. The massive wolf then laid down on his side, rolling partially onto his back to present his belly. 

“Oh, you want some rubs, do ye?” Brenna chimed, as she and the girl Sigrid squatted down next to the wolf. They motioned Lyanna over to join them. 

“JON you sly dog!!” a booming voice sounded from behind him. Tormund was walking toward him. “I know I told you that you needed a woman, but…” 

Daenerys stood and turned toward the red haired man, stepping next to Jon, who smiled in greeting at his approaching friend. 

“I thought maybe you went into the forest to work some magic, and brought her back. Maybe you are a god, even with such a tiny pecker!” 

“No, my friend. She found me there.”  
  
“How? How did… _the red woman??_ But she died at Winterfell!” Tormund inquired,

“There are others, Tormund. A whole religion that worships the same Lord of Light.” Daenerys offered. “There is a temple in Volantis, far on the other side of the Narrow Sea. Drogon took me there after… “ She looked down, a slight trace of shame in her eyes. 

“Do they bring a lot of people back??” Tormund asked genuinely. 

“No, I don’t think so… “ Daenerys trailed off. “The priestess who brought me back just told me that the Lord of Light had a different path for me, that… things weren’t supposed to happen the way they happened. I don’t really know what she meant by that.” She looked to Jon, who saw the sincerity in her eyes.. “The only thing I understood about it was that my, that our children,” she took Jon’s hand in hers “are supposed to carry on, that our blood line must continue.” 

Tormund moved to Jon’s side and gave him a soft elbow. “More children, eh?? At least you know how to do _that_ well, Jon!” he bellowed with laughter. 

Jon rolled his eyes and shook his head, with a smile on his face. Tormund always loved ribbing Jon, though the wildling has great respect for him. Jon looked to Daenerys, who smiled and gave him a knowing look. _She certainly never complained._

“I’ll get us something to eat” Jon resigned, after a laugh. 

Jon and Tormund returned with plates of food - bacon, sausages, potatoes and bread. A tall, light brown haired woman came to sit with them, and Jon made introductions.  
  
“Daenerys, this is Gita. She’s Tormund’s… well.. “ Jon puzzled a moment, as the Freefolk didn’t much care for formal marriage. 

“She is my woman! And I am her man!” Tormund proclaimed, hugging the tall woman like a bear might fall on its prey, but with one hand lowering to the woman’s rear, giving it a hard squeeze. The woman laughed and pulled away from him after a moment, and nodded to Daenerys.

She nodded in return and welcomed the tall woman. The group made small talk as they ate, and the young girls all played with Ghost and carried on. The sun was rising, warming the air. Gentle breezes and scents greeted them all. It was calm and serene, peaceful. 

After finishing the meal, Jon asked the girl, Brenna, “would you be willing to keep an eye on Lyanna for me for a while?” Brenna beamed in response, nodding. _This girl always was motherly to the children. Someday she’ll be an excellent mother herself._

Daenerys looked to Jon, who gave her a nod. “I trust them, she’ll be safe in their care,” he assured her.

“Where are we going then??” Tormund chimed in, standing up and patting his hands to his thighs.

“Not you, my friend. Daenerys and I need some time.”  
  
“Oh, I see!” Tormund replied with a raised eyebrow and a large grin on his face. Jon just shook his head in response, his eyes rolling in bemusement. 

Daenerys knelt down next to Lyanna and softly said “stay here with Brenna and Sigrid, OK?” Lyanna nodded, and then smiled as her mother tousled her hair and then leaned in to kiss her forehead.

"Ghost, stay and watch over the little ones, eh?" Jon asked the great wolf, who just looked up at him while the children rubbed his belly. He wasn't going anywhere, he liked the attention. 

  


***** 

Jon and Daenerys walked along the banks of the river, the shallow, crystal clear water running lazily over a bed of rounded, smooth stones of grey, black, brown and red. The gentle sound of a light breeze through the distant trees carried the scent of pine to them. Their steps crunching in the sandy gravel. The sunlight peeked through gaps in the large puffy clouds, bringing some warmth to the day.

“When I heard they made you take the black, I was a bit worried.” 

“Why would that worry you?” Jon inquired.

“The vows of the Night’s Watch… you shall take no wife, father no children… “ she trailed off, looking over at him. 

“Well… there really isn’t a Night’s Watch anymore. There is no black to take, so there are no vows.” He replied with a raised brow, looking back to her. Turning back along the bank, he continued, “there were so few in the Watch before the wall fell, and before the battle at Winterfell. Since the threat was defeated, and the freefolk now friends, there’s no reason to stand guard. All of the gates have been raised. Anyone can pass freely.” 

Along the river bank, they came to an outcropping of large stones of brown and grey. Some as large as a horse, others low enough to climb over or sit upon. Daenerys moved to sit on a large flat stone, and Jon moved to sit next to her. 

“This is a beautiful place, isn’t it?” he asked her with a smile. 

She nodded and looked at him, her smile fading into a more serious expression.  
  
“I have to tell you, Jon. I have to try..” she paused, “to explain what happened to me.” She swallowed, and a sadness crept over beautiful, pale face. 

"I don't know if I _can_ explain it... the torrent of emotions all out of my control, overwhelming me. It felt as if my body were being crushed by a huge weight, and I struggled to even breathe, my world was collapsing around me. The rage, most of all the rage. And when it was over, when I dismounted Drogon, it felt as if the weight was lifted. Everything was gone, except... I don't know if I can describe it. I felt... safe. As if I had defeated every enemy, as if no one could touch me. But that victory wasn't enough. " she looked down, blankly staring at the pebbles and rocks at her feet. 

"When I saw the throne, when I touched it and knew it was mine, I felt like there was nothing that could stop me. Anything I wanted could be mine, I just had to take it... and then there you were. I knew that I loved you, and that I needed you. I knew you would make me stronger, that we belonged together.” she paused a moment, “I heard what you were saying, but it was as if I couldn't understand why you were saying those things to me. Your tears, your sadness, I didn't understand... until you kissed me.... and I felt the sting." She put her hands to her face, tears beginning to stream from her eyes. 

Jon moved to stand in front of her, hugging her to his chest as she wept. 

“I… I don’t know what I had become,” she managed to choke out. “When I woke, it was silent, but I could hear the screams. I could smell the smoke… I could hear your voice…” she turned her head to look up at him, “I could see your face, your tears. I knew I was wrong. I had done something horrible… unforgivable. My anger destroyed me. I had become that which I swore I was not, I did what I swore I would never do....” her voice trailed off, as she rested her head against Jon’s chest. 

“I thought you would hate me.” she whispered. 

“I don’t… I couldn’t... “ his voice trailed off. “I let you down, I should have listened to you, I should have trusted you. My foolish pride…“ Jon lamented. “Some secrets are just too dangerous to share, even with those we love and trust. I only wanted my sisters to know… to know that their father had never dishonored their mother…” 

“You’re an honorable man, Jon… it’s one of the things I love about you.” She inhaled and moved her head back to look up at him.  
  
“Aye, sometimes my pride and sense of honor don’t do me well, I felt duty bound to follow you, but I could not. Maester Aemon told me once that duty is the death of love… I believe my duty _was_ love… and I failed.” he lamented, tears welling up in his eyes. He looked down at her, into her sad eyes.. He moved his hands up to her face and wiped the tears from her pale cheeks, her hands joining his. 

She stared into his dark eyes for a moment, then started softly, “before my brother, Viserys, died, and before I was married to Drogo, all I ever wanted was a home… a place to belong. When he died, I thought I was the last Targaryen. When I went into the fire of Drogo’s funeral pyre with the eggs, I didn’t think I would survive… but I emerged unburnt.”  
  
She took his hands down from her face, holding them, still holding his eyes. “I believed I had a destiny, that I was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms.” she paused for a moment, studying Jon’s face. He listened attentively, with a softness in his eyes. 

“I wasn’t going to let anything get in the way…. But you… finding out who you truly were… I don’t know if I.. “  
  
“It doesn’t matter now.” he interrupted. 

“I felt so conflicted because I love you so deeply, but felt that… the whole identity I had built… was a lie,” she looked down and very slightly shook her head. 

He pulled her close to him again and spoke gently, “It doesn’t matter now. You’re not the same. I know you’d change it if you could. If… “ 

“I would. If only to save thousands of lives… if only for _you_.” 

“That tells me everything. I always knew you have a good heart, that you wanted to do good,” he said quietly. “And now?” 

She paused a moment, not to think, but to regard his expression. It was calm, loving, welcoming. “This. This is all I want.” she quietly responded, turning her chin up and leaning close in. Jon met her and their lips joined in a slow, passionate kiss. Their embrace seemed to last for hours.

When they slowly parted, Jon almosts whispered, “I will never let you go. Never again.” 

She whispered back, “I love you Jon. Anywhere you are, is home.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this was a bit difficult because the writing and character behaviors in S8... just didn't make much sense. It's hard to reconcile that, but I tried. Hopefully this will be liked. Like I mentioned, I have a path for this story, I have some ideas. I mostly think about it in terms of character interactions and conversations. I've found that I start writing the chapters as the conversation, then fill in around it, to move from scene to scene. Hopefully this will work out. I need to figure out a good way to write an outline to make sure I'm hitting all the points I want to hit.
> 
> It'll be a bit sporadic. I don't have a set schedule. I'm currently on vacation, sitting in my camper, pounding out a bit. I've got most of the next chapter almost done. It's short. I'm not sure how frequent more will be coming, but I should have plenty of time to get some writing done over the next couple weeks!
> 
> (Oh - I did also notice at the end of The Iron Throne, Jon was indeed wearing black and a black cloak, but since we never saw him swear any oaths, I'm not going to fill in that blank that the show left us to assume. Didn't see it, didn't happen.)


	7. Samwell I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Samwell gets a bit of news, and some orders.

Samwell I 

Samwell left the chambers of the Maester of the Red Keep, Gilley, Little Sam and Jon, his youngest son, remained there. It was early in the morning, and they were not stirring yet. Little Jon’s 4th Name Day wasn’t too long ago.  _ I wish Jon were here to meet him. He’d love my family.  _ He carried on to the chamber where the table of the Small Council was, in part of the Red Keep that wasn’t destroyed. Amazingly, some of the important parts of the keep were intact. The royal apartments, the library, and most of the lower levels. The great hall was nearly completely obliterated, as was the Tower of the Hand, leaving the new-ish Hand Tyrion to dwell in the royal apartments. 

The council had concentrated on rebuilding the city. The gates and outer walls, then the other areas. Bran had negotiated finances with the Iron Bank, including all of the portions of gold that had not been paid out to the Golden Company on behalf of the former queen, Cersei Lannister. With Bronn also being lord of Highgarden, and the mines there still being productive, finances were decently in hand. Masons, carpenters and other craftsmen and tradesmen were brought in from all areas, although the wars in the recent past had considerable impact on the population of almost the entirety of Westeros. It would take generations to recover. 

Bran had been generous with funds, and with Ser Davos’ help, he had brought in food and building supplies and materials to help the city. Trade was on the upswing as well, though the permanent population of the city was decimated. There had been nearly half a million people in the city before the Day of Fire, they called it. Less than half of that number survived. 

Most of the smallfolk of the city didn’t understand what had happened that day, or why. Many believed the lies of Cersei Lannister - that Daenerys Targaryen was a foreign invader, who intended to burn their homes and take the Throne by force, killing everyone if necessary. It wasn’t hard to believe after that day. There were few that still spoke of the tales of Daenerys Targaryen freeing slaves in Essos, and fighting for the smallfolk, but they were greatly overshadowed by that day. 

Sam didn’t quite know what to believe. He loved and trusted Jon Snow, and knew he would never love a woman whom he knew intended to commit such a horrible act. He also knew of the events that befell her in such a short time after the Battle of Winterfell. Part that he himself was responsible for. Sometimes he lamented that if he didn’t tell Jon about his identity, maybe things would be different. He didn’t get to speak to Jon much after he arrived at King’s Landing for the new King’s Moot, but he knew Jon loved Daenerys, and expressed that if things hadn’t happened to her…. He believed she could have been a good queen. 

Sam, of course had his doubts. She had burned his father and his brother after the Battle of the Gold Road. He knew his father had betrayed House Tyrell, to whom the Tarlys had been sworn to for generations, and that he was not a good man. But Dickon was young and innocent. Sam didn’t know why Dickon was burned with their father. This angered him and upset him enough that, at the time at least, he didn’t think Daenerys a good leader at all.  _ But Jon believed in her… he must have had good reasons.  _

Sam took his seat at the Council table, the rest being empty as it was so early in the morning. He opened the tome he had left on the table the evening before. The Maesters of the Citadel had endlessly protested his appointment as the maester of the Red Keep, though King Bran ignored them. Sam kept his learning going, though, through books, tomes and scrolls from the library in the Red Keep.  _ Read about the achievements of better men…  _ he would hear his father’s belittling words sometimes as he read histories of great men accomplishing great things.  _ Yes, father, but if we don’t write about the accomplishments of great men, who will ever remember them?  _

Lost in his reading, he hardly noticed Tyrion enter the room, followed shortly by Ser Davos. They made small talk for a short time before Bran was wheeled in by Ser Podrick. Ser Brienne followed, as she had been standing in as the Master of War, although the realm faced no serious threats, only minor quibbles between small houses, especially in the Reach and the Riverlands, as more than two major houses had been all but ended. Bran seemed to be content in letting them work out their own issues, rarely intervening, though he had little in the way of military might with which to use in any great measure. Most houses fell in line and were simply tired of the warring and bickering. With the North now being independent, there was even less concern between regions. Queen Sansa had the North minding its own affairs quite well. They had only heard from her from time to time, and mostly just about mundane details of happenings in the North. Bronn was notably absent, though he was known to be at Highgarden, learning the hard way how to be a lord, and run his lands. Samwell usually filled in when it came to matters of coin. 

“Shall we begin?” Tyrion started. “There’s really not much to talk about. Grain and other crops are moving in steadily from the Reach and the Riverlands. Reconstruction of the Red Keep is going well, though it may take the better part of a decade to complete from here.” 

“Aye, materials needed are coming in by ship regularly.” Davos added. 

Sam nodded.  _ All mundane things, nothing new….  _

“There is news.” Bran stated plainly. This caught everyone’s attention. “A dragon was spotted flying north off the eastern shores of the Fingers. Several sailors saw it at sea as well.”

“Aye, I heard a rumor not yesterday. Some sailors who said they had been traveling southwest from Braavos claim to have seen a great winged beast flying north. Could it be  _ her _ dragon?” 

“I don’t know. I haven’t been able to see him.” Bran stated. 

“Should we worry at all?” Sam inquired. 

“I don’t think there is a need. Not now.” Bran replied. “If we’ve nothing else, I will speak with Sam alone for a moment.” 

Tyrion, Ser Davos, Ser Brienne all rose, giving a curtsy and a “your grace” toward Bran before departing. 

“You too, Podrick. I will call for you when we are done.” Bran said as he turned toward the knight standing behind him. 

“Your grace” Podrick said and bowed, leaving the room behind Bran, closing the door. 

“Your grace, is there something amiss? Have I done something wrong?” Sam inquired, his brows raised in question. 

“No Samwell, you have not. It’s about the dragon. It’s about Jon.” Bran stated. 

“Jon? Is something wrong? Is he alright?” Sam asked, a worried look overtaking his features. 

“I don’t know. I can’t see him. I would check in on him from time to time. When I tried yesterday, I could not see him. I couldn’t see the village where he lives. Something is preventing me.” he said. 

“Blocking you? What could block your vision?”

“I don’t know. But I need to. You cannot get a raven directly to him. Send one to Castle Black, and request that Jon visit Winterfell to await word. Send another raven to Queen Sansa, so she will know to expect Jon. Do not indicate anything is amiss, just that I, that we have business that requires Jon’s direct input.” 

“OK, the ravens will take a while to get there. I’m not exactly sure where Jon is, err… was… but it could take a few weeks for him to get to Winterfell.” Sam replied. 

“Yes, it will. It will also take you the better part of a month to get there yourself.” 

“What? Me, go to Winterfell? That’s a long way, Your Grace, I have my family here…” Sam implored. 

“Take them with you. You will have wagons and an armed detail. Jon trusts you, and we need to know what is going on. You will leave in a fortnight. Jon should receive word by then and start toward Winterfell.” 

“Y-y-yes, Your Grace” Sam stuttered. “I’ll get the ravens out today.” 

“Thank you” Bran replied plainly. “Also, I have secured the funding we needed for the additional works on the Keep from the Iron Bank.” 

“What did you say to the Iron Bank, to Tycho to secure the loans?” Samwell inquired. The Iron Bank had been quite reticent to loan any more funds, seeing as the economy of King’s Landing, and the Crown by extension, haven't recovered yet. 

“Just that I know the things he is hiding. The things he would want no one to know.” Bran replied, almost nonchalantly. “I also gave him advice on other investments that will pay off handsomely for the Bank.” 

Sam nodded and asked “Is that all, Your Grace?” 

Bran nodded, and Sam rose, taking the large tome with him. “I’ll have Podrick come for you, Your Grace.” 

“Thank you, Sam.” Bran replied. 

As he was leaving, he found Podrick down the hall and bade him attend the King, and then he headed for his chambers. 

Entering, he found Little Sam playing with a wooden ship that Davos had gifted to him on his Name Day. Little Jon was on Gilly’s lap, with a book in front of them. Filled with colorful drawings, Gilly read to him  _ The Dance of Dragons, History of the Targaryens… _ he recognized the work.  _ Sad for the Targaryens, all gone now, well, except Jon.  _ It gave him pause to think about the events again. The puzzlement of how Jon could have sworn himself to Daenerys once again sparked an itch in his mind.  _ Perhaps I’ll get to discuss it with him when we meet at Winterfell? _ He assured himself he would be able to get answers. Jon was a good, honorable man, and would never have allied himself with someone who was obviously, well, mad and murderous. 

Sam sat at the table across from Gilly. She had taken to pinning her hair up along the sides of her head in long braids. Her dress was fine, but not overly flashy. She smiled at Sam as she read to Little Jon. 

“So, in a fortnight, we leave for Winterfell.” Sam stated. 

“Winterfell? Why would we go back there?” Gilly asked, looking up from the book.    
  
“Jon.” He muttered. “Snow, that is. Bran says he can’t see Jon. And there was a report of a dragon being spotted flying north along the east coast. It could be nothing, but King Bran is worried that something is stopping him from seeing Jon.” He explained.   
  
“Oh, well, it would be good to see Jon I guess.” She offered, with a smile.    
  
“Yes, yes it would. I miss him, and I hope he’s doing well. It would be good for us to get out of the city, too. Get some fresh air. Like a holiday, you know?” He said, trying to ease any tension, but Gilly was rather nonplussed by the news. 

“OK,” she said. “I guess with two weeks, we’ll have plenty of time to prepare. We will be taking the boys, no?” 

“Oh, yes, yes, the boys can come with us. I’d love Jon to meet Little Jon, and to see how Little Sam has grown.” He smiled and turned to look at Little Sam, who didn’t really have any interest in their conversation. 

“You hear that Sam?” he asked. “We’re going to go back to Winterfell for a visit!” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short connective chapter. 
> 
> This story will be very focused on the Jon and Daenerys points of view, but some connective chapters may be needed, so I'll delve into a couple other characters. Samwell here, maybe Davos later on. We'll see?


	8. Daenerys IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life in the village, a summons, an impending journey

Daenerys IV

  
  


_ That went better than I could have hoped.  _ She thought inwardly. It was a heartening relief that Jon had regrets, but even that brought a hint of guilt to her mind.  _ If he had shown me his love before… I would almost have given up the crown if he had asked… but our enemies would have never left us in peace...  _ She knew her love for Jon Snow was deeper than she had thought possible. She thought she had loved Drogo, but Jon… Jon was something on a much deeper level. She  _ chose  _ Jon. She learned who he was, and her affection grew naturally, something she had never experienced before. 

She recalled their first meeting, on Dragonstone, when Jon had come to her with a story of the “Night King” and an army of dead men threatening the realm. She thought him insulting and insolent, yet his steadfast strong headedness and willingness to stand and speak to her as an equal, even in disregard for his own safety had won her respect.. She could see why the Northmen had made him their king. He would pursue what he felt was right, even if it may cost him his life. 

She remembered how her heart sank when he left Dragonstone to venture north of the wall to capture a wight, lamenting that it ended up not gaining them anything because of the conniving, deceitful Cersei Lannister.  _ Jon almost lost his life because of her!  _ She recalled how her heart sank yet again when she saw Jon fall through the ice as they fled on her dragon, the Night King’s icy spear threatening to take another of her children. Then how she nearly burst into tears seeing Jon return to the wall on horseback. 

And in the bed on her ship, seeing the scars on his chest. She knew Davos wasn’t ‘getting carried away’ when he said Jon had taken a knife to the heart.. She knew he had indeed sacrificed his life for his people. This is when she knew for certain what kind of man he was. When she knew he was the one she would give her heart to. 

And now, she was certain, he felt the same all along. Even if the knowledge of his birth had brought uncertainty to his mind, he loved her regardless. 

The pangs of shame hit her once again, thinking of how selfish she was when she learned of his true name.. It challenged the identity she had built for herself over the years.  _ If I knew then what I know now, I would have asked him to join with me… to marry me… to be my King. We could have gotten through anything together. _

The thoughts cascaded through her mind as she walked next to the man she loves, the man who loves her. His warm, rough hand holding her small, soft one. His genuine smile beaming. 

They made their way back to the small village, hand in hand, smiles on their faces. They had found each other again, maybe more deeply than before. She felt content, even though she wasn’t sure what life would be like now, she knew it would be with Jon and their children, and that was everything to her now.

Walking to the central ring, they found Lyanna playing with the girls Brenna and Sigrid. Ghost lounging closeby, watching over them. Ghost rolled to his paws and regarded Jon and Daenerys walking toward him, but he stayed prone. The three young girls playing around him, giving him much appreciated attention with rubs and ear scratches.  _ LIke a big puppy  _ Daenerys mused. 

“You two have a good time, eh??” Tormund called from the great hall as the pair approached Ghost and the girls playing.    
  
Jon rolled his eyes and turned to Tormund. “Aye, good times.” 

“Well, we have work to do!” the red-haired man bellowed, motioning to rough cut boards stacked next to the hall.    
  
“Aye, I’ll be along shortly” Jon sighed in response. 

He turned to face Daenerys and took her hands in his. “I’ll have work to be done this day,” he smiled at her, “it’s honest work, though.” 

She smiled up to him. “Go, help Tormund and the others. I’ll watch the children, and help where I can.” 

Jon leaned forward and kissed her tenderly, then looked to Ghost and Lyanna and smiled, almost more broadly than she had ever seen. He then removed his leather jerkin and set it on one of the logs, and left to join Tormund and several other men to work on the hall. 

Daenerys greeted the girls Brenna and Sigrid, and hugged Lyanna and sat with them for a while. Ghost sat next to her and took advantage of the attention she would give him. Through the day, she made acquaintance with the women in the village, and some of the men, while frequently turning her attention to Jon, watching him work with his hands, with the other men. Sweat on his brow and a smile on his face. He’d catch her gaze from time to time, and they would share a smile. She couldn’t wait to have his attention again, but knew from her time with the Dothraki that things needed to get done in order to survive. 

Seeing Jon labor with the other men, how he worked with axe, saw, plane, hammer and nail, how he gave and accepted direction, how he led where needed and relied on the others when appropriate, reminded her of what a natural leader Jon was. She mused at the thought of him toiling on the small cabin they were to dwell in now, their house, their home, built by his hand.  _ He was good with his hands… _

Late in the day, three of the village men returned with a large buck they had taken in the forest. They had already cleaned the kill, and brought it to the great hall, where it was butchered and set to the spit over the fire to cook. Bread was baking in the stone oven next to the pit, and a large pot of stew with various vegetables and meat cooked slowly next to the oven. 

Jon found her shortly before the sun set, sitting with Lyanna, having her meal, and took a seat next to them. He seemed tired, yet happy. Content. Daenerys smiled at him as he sat and drank in the sight of his love and their child. 

“It was a good day’s work,” he sighed. 

“You get along well with the men. You lead and follow when needed. They’re lucky to have you,” Daenerys spoke quietly, meeting Jon’s eyes. He nodded and shared her smile.    
  
“Aye, it’s a simple life, but I do love it here. It’s calm. It’s peaceful.”    
  
She looked across the small village, the people beginning to gather around the fire ring, across the slowly flowing river to the great mountains west of the river, capped with white.  _ It is beautiful here. It is peaceful. Quiet.  _

“Jon, come, I’ve got something for you!” Tormund called as he approached, holding his hands up to beckon his friend. Jon stood and smiled to Daenerys and Lyanna, then strode away with his red haired friend. She watched them as they walked to the far side of the hall and lost sight of them.

A short while later, the two men came back into sight, carrying some wooden object between them. As they grew closer, she could make out what the object was - a small bed. She caught Jon’s eye as they carried the small bed toward his cabin. They carried it inside, and a few moments later emerged and headed toward the fire ring. 

Jon again sat next to her, his eyes never moving from her, hers never moving from his. 

“A bed for Lyanna.” he said, looking to his daughter, sitting on her mother’s lap. The girl yawned as she looked to her father. “Getting tired, my little bit?” She nodded and stretched her arms out. 

“I’ll get her settled to bed then,” Daenerys replied. She stood and leaned to kiss Jon, who happily met her. She handed him the remains of their meal and walked toward the cabin. 

Inside the cabin, she found the bed against the wall opposite the larger bed. With the sun setting, she set Lyanna down on the small bed, and retrieved a candle in a brass holder from the desk, and lit it from the embers of the fire in the hearth. The chill of the night was already setting in. She still wasn’t used to anything other than the warm, muggy nights in Volantis. The child didn’t seem to notice, but the caring mother knew her child needed to be warm. 

She arranged the blankets Lyanna had slept upon the night before onto the bed, and dressed the girl in a simple cotton gown. The girl yawned again as her mother laid her down and brought the blankets up over her.   
  
“Did you have a fun day today, my love?” 

The girl nodded and smiled. Daenerys leaned forward to kiss her forehead. She knelt next to the bed and hummed a simple lullaby, until the little girl’s eyes closed and she drifted off to sleep. She stood, and looked around the cabin, lit by the dim light of the candle. It wasn’t much, but she had lived in less. She thought for a moment of what a night like this would be like if she, and Jon and their beautiful daughter were in the Red Keep, if things had been different for them. She shook herself from that thought, and tried to force it from her mind.  _ I ruined the chance for that. _

She moved to the hearth again, taking a couple of the quartered logs next to it, and laid them on the embers. She stared at them for a few moments, but the memory of fire and ash and smoke made her turn away. She then moved to the stool in front of the table in the corner, placing the candle on it, and began to remove her braids. 

With a quiet clack and a creak, the door to the cabin opened, and she could see Jon’s form in the doorway. He tried to be quiet as he stepped in, picking up a bucket and cloth from the corner.    
  
“I need to clean up a bit, I’ll be back shortly,” he whispered. Daenerys nodded at him from the mirror, and watched as he knelt by their daughter’s bed for a moment, to catch a glance of the sleeping child. She could see his smile looking down at her.  _ I know he’ll be a wonderful father.  _

After he exited, quietly closing the door, she finished with her hair, and opened the small wooden box, placing the ribbon back inside. Reaching into the pocket of her dress, she removed the small ruby amulet, wrapped in the crimson silk cloth, and placed it in the box.

She stood and undressed, then put on a thin slip of fine silk she had brought with her from Volantis, sat back at the stool and began to brush her hair. She felt relaxed as she brushed her long silver locks, and her mind wandered to Jon.    
  
Her heart quickened, and her palms started to sweat.  _ Tonight, I will warm his bed, we will be together again. _ It was his touch she thought on. The night he knocked on her cabin door, and all the nights after that. She missed him. She missed the tenderness of his touch, the feel of his firm body against hers. His hands on her body. His warmth. His passion. 

It was almost as if she willed it to happen. The door opened as she stood and turned to face toward it. Jon stood in the doorway, catching sight of her, standing there in her thin, fine gown. He slowly closed the door and set the bucket and cloth down next to it, never moving his eyes from her. 

It was the same look he gave her that night in her cabin, met with the same eyes she had given in return. She could see his breathing quicken. She stepped toward him quickly, pressing herself against him, her lips finding his, her body backing him against the door. He met her embrace and returned her kiss with undeniable desire. His hands moved to her hips, up along her waist, feeling her body as she pressed against him. Her hands found the bottom of his untucked tunic and started to raise it. He raised his arms as the tunic came off and then moved his hands to her lower back, grasping at the fine cloth of her gown, raising it upward.

Her hands moved to his breeches, frantically tugging at the lacing, pausing to lift her arms as Jon pulled her gown over her head, her hair spilling over her shoulders. He moved forward, gently guiding her to the bed, his lips locked with hers. His breeches falling while he stepped. 

He stopped at the edge of the bed to remove his boots and then his breeches completely, rising again to stand in front of her, bare and exposed. She looked him up and down for a moment as he did the same. Jon leaned in and brought his mouth to her neck, gently rubbing his lips upward to her ear, tracing his tongue along her soft skin. She gave a soft gasp between heavy breaths. 

Turning him toward the bed, she gently pushed against his chest. He sat on the bed as she wanted. Looking into his dark eyes, his chest heaving with heavy breaths, she climbed atop his lap, bringing her lips to his again. He moved down under her chin, along her neck, his hands moving from her hips up to her waist, then to her full breasts. Her chest rising and falling with every breath. Jon gently squeezed and rubbed, moving his mouth from one breast to the other, feeling her shudder as his tongue caressed them. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, enjoying his attention. 

After a few moments, she couldn’t take it any longer. She needed him. She needed him inside her. She ground her hips against him, feeling his manhood stiff between them. She brought her hands to his face, lifting him to kiss him deeply, then she pushed him gently down onto his back. Running her small hands down his chest, across the scars near his heart. She moved her hips around more, feeling his pulse quicken. 

He met her eyes as she paused for just a moment, their breathing still heavy and their eyes full of desire. She raised herself up slowly and took his member in her hand, feeling its fullness, his pulse pounding in it. She guided him into her waiting body, slowly taking him in. His mouth opened and he let out a quiet gasp. Looking into his eyes, she lowered herself until he was fully inside her. She raised herself up slowly, then back down, her hands on his chest, feeling his heart and his breath. He pushed his hips up toward her as she lowered herself, again and again, slowly at first, then faster. 

  
Jon’s hands were everywhere on her… touching every inch he cold reach. His eyes drinking in her form. Her long silver hair spilling around her.

  
She leaned forward and met his lips with hers, her breasts rubbing against his chest as she continued to move up and down. She moaned softly, then not so softly. Her hips ground into him as she took him into her fully, She gasped and shuddered as the pleasure gripped her. She tried to hold back her expression of joy, but found it near impossible. She felt her body quiver and her vision blur. 

Daenerys lowered herself again to Jon’s chest, her breath heaving, and his the same. He kissed her cheek, and then met her lips. She then raised her head a bit and smiled to him. She rolled to her side, pulling him on top of her, spreading her legs open and pulling Jon toward her again. 

He raised himself on his elbows and looked into her eyes.  _ I missed this so much, feeling so close to him. _

Slowly he moved himself back and forth, quickening his pace. She looked longingly into his eyes, the sensations of his touch building again. He gasped and moaned, and she felt him pulse inside her. He looked into her eyes again, their bodies melted together in passion. She smiled up to him and he smiled back to her. For long moments, they stayed like this, their heavy breaths abating slowly. 

She reached her hand up to touch his cheek, and he pressed against it.    
  
“I’ve missed you, Jon. I’ve missed  _ this. _ ” she whispered to him. 

He smiled back down at her and whispered back, “I’ve missed you too, more than I could ever say.” 

Jon then moved to her side, laying on his own. She turned from him and pressed herself against him, taking his arm and pulling it around her. Their breaths slowing down, their hearts calming. 

Slowly, the heat of their passion faded. Jon reached down and pulled the blankets up over them, Daenerys taking his hand again. 

_ “Avy jorrāelan”  _ she whispered as she faded to sleep, feeling whole, safe…  _ at home. _

******

The next days played out similarly - Jon would help the men of the village work on the hall, on other cabins, or would hunt and gather in the forest. Daenerys took to helping with tasks around the camp, making acquaintances of the folk there. Life was similar to how it had been with the Dothraki, although not constantly moving across the Great Grass Sea. 

Jon would on occasion steal her away into their cabin to make love, or to walk with her along the shore of the river. When he was close, he would take frequent breaks to visit with their daughter. She was quickly growing comfortable with him, understanding what he was to her and to her mother. The child had also grown quite comfortable with and fond of Ghost, who was like a big puppy when she was around.  _ The wolf knows his pack. It’s almost as if Ghost was almost hers now!  _

Daenerys felt more and more at home, at peace. The night terrors she had before coming to this place hadn’t visited her in some time. It felt as if Jon’s closeness drove them away from her. All the burdens and expectations she had of herself years ago had vanished. Now she wanted nothing more than to be here. 

******

Days turned into weeks, and life was simple, but good. Daenerys was happy, Lyanna was happy, and Jon was happy. They were a family, together, happy and safe. 

This afternoon was not unlike the ones before it. The weather was pleasant, with large puffy clouds slowly meandering across the blue sky. The sun’s warmth lazily battling cool breezes. The fresh air leaving her feeling refreshed with every breath. 

Jon and the others had nearly completed the hall, boarding and thatching the roof. Rains had been somewhat scarce the last couple weeks, so their work had not quite been tested. 

Daenerys sat with some of the other village women, working with a measure of supple deerskin leather, making small clothing for her growing daughter. Jon worked nearby planing boards and sawing them to length. In the warmth of the afternoon, he had removed his tunic, drawing Daenerys’ frequent gaze. She admired his lean, strong body. It was almost nightly they shared their passion, of which the thought brought a smile to her lips. Jon would sometimes catch her gaze and return a knowing smile. There was no waning of the passion between them. 

“Rider approaching!” one of the men on the roof of the hall called down to Jon and Tormund, working near each other. This caught Daenerys’ attention, as it did most of the people close by. 

Jon called up to the man on the roof, “from which direction?” 

“The southeast. Probably from Castle Black, I’d say!” the man replied, pointing in that direction.

Jon looked to Tormund who met his glance with a shrug. Jon donned his tunic and walked toward Daenerys. 

“It’s probably just someone from the Night’s Watch” he informed her.

“I thought you said there was no more Night’s Watch,” she teased. 

He smiled and then continued, “see to Lyanna, not all caution should be forgotten.” He leaned down to give her a quick kiss, and walked toward their cabin. A few moments later, he emerged wearing his leather jerkin, and his sword strapped to his waist. 

Tormund had done the same, retrieving his short curved sword from his own cabin. 

Jon and Tormund stood at the south east of the central circle, watching the rider grow closer. The figure was clad in black, with a black cloak. 

“Yep, looks like a crow!” Tormund declared. 

The rider approached the pair at a slow trot on the dark brown palfrey. 

“Lord Snow!” the young man called out, recognizing Jon.

“Bowen Rivers!” Jon replied. The man was familiar to him. Tall but a bit lanky, Bowen had been a young recruit before the Night’s Watch fled south to Winterfell before the battle with the Night King. He was one of the few who survived, and returned to Castle Black. Many of the few of the Watch who had survived the battle returned to Castle Black, although there was no longer a need for the Watch, they had no other lives to return to. Living at the keep as they had under the watch was simply the way they had come to know how to live. 

“Aye, m’lord!” the slender fellow called, as he dismounted and walked toward Jon, who met him with a firm hand clasp and a smile. 

“What brings you so far this way?” Jon inquired. Daenerys stepped closer to the trio of men to hear. Bowen glanced to her and paused a moment, as if he wasn’t sure he recognized her, then he looked back to Jon.

“A raven. We received a raven. For you.” 

“From where? Who would need to reach me?” Jon inquired. 

“From King’s Landing. From Samwell Tarly!” Bowen declared. He reached into his pocket and produced the small scroll, handing it to Jon. 

“Thank you for bringing it all this way, Bowen. You must be hungry and weary!” Jon declared. “Darmyr!” Jon called to one of the young boys, motioning him close. “Please water the horse and see that it is fed and rested?” The young light haired boy, Darmyr, nodded in assent and took the reigns from Bowen. 

“Please, see yourself to the hall, there should be bread and stew.” Jon bade Bowen toward the hall. 

“Thank you, m’lord,” Bowen replied, and stepped off toward the hall. 

Tormund grunted and looked to Jon. “I hope it’s nothing bad,” then stepped away to return to his tasks. 

Daenerys stepped to Jon’s side as he unrolled the raven scroll. 

_ For Jon Snow,  _ __   
_ I hope this message finds you well. King Bran, first of his name, protector of the realm, requests that you journey to Winterfell and await further contact. Nothing is amiss, nor has any event occurred, King Bran has concerns about your wellbeing, as do I, my friend. Queen Sansa will be expecting your arrival. _ _   
_ __ -Samwell Tarly, Maester of the Red Keep

Jon gave a puzzled look to the scroll, then to Daenerys. He held the scroll so she could read it.  _ Bran can’t see with the amulet close _ she realized, her hand going to her pocket to feel for its presence.  _ He can’t see Jon… perhaps he has grown suspicious?  _

“You’ve been summoned to Winterfell?” she questioned, looking up to Jon. 

“Aye, a little unusual. I’ve never been summoned anywhere, and I haven’t been to Winterfell since… “ he looked to Daenerys, “we were both there last.” 

She nodded to him, remembering the time. They had won the Great War, and in her haste to win the war against Cersei Lannister, they had left Winterfell shortly after… and then her world fell apart… 

Jon looked to her, and could see the apprehension in her eyes.

“You could stay here while I go, see what this is all about,” he offered, “but it will take near a moon’s turn just to get there…” he trailed off. 

“No, Lyanna and I will go with you. Where you go, I shall go, too,” she reassured him. Jon smiled and nodded in agreement. 

“Good… I don’t think I could bear to be away from you and Lyanna for so long. We should have enough time to prepare today and leave on the morrow.” 

She nodded, “I’ll gather Lyanna and prepare our things.” 

Jon leaned forward and gave her a quick kiss, and a smile, then walked toward Tormund. 

_ Go back to Winterfell? What will Sansa do? How will she react to seeing me again?  _ Her heart felt heavy and her mind raced. Trepidation gripped her, but she assured herself that Jon would not let harm befall her. It was almost enough to assuage the feelings swirling in her heart.

A short while later, in the cabin as she prepared her clothing and clothing for Lyanna, Jon entered and looked over the cabin, his love and his daughter. 

“The horses will be ready in the morning. We’ll leave after our morning meal. I’ve asked Tormund to accompany us.” Jon opened, as he went to the chest next to the door, and started to remove some items from it. A larger knapsack, the brown leather brigandine armor the Starks and northmen favored, and a few other items. 

Daenerys had her satchel packed and leaning against the table in the opposite corner, next to the fireplace. Lyanna sat on the floor, playing with a carved wooden horse that Tormund had given her. He had taken quite a liking to the young girl, and could make her laugh almost uncontrollably with his jests and stories. He was quite good with all of the children, and in spite of his occasional crudeness, was very much a father figure. 

“We’ll take our evening meal and get to bed early,” she replied to Jon, as she crossed the room to embrace him and give him a quick kiss. She then smiled and knelt next to their daughter. “Are you excited to go on a trip again?” 

“Yes mommy,” the child replied. 

“We’ll be going to a place called Winterfell. It’s where your daddy grew up.” 

“Ride Drogon?” the little girl asked excitedly. Jon overheard and chuckled. 

“No, my dear, we’re going to ride horses. People will think Drogon is scary, and we don’t want to scare people, do we?” Daenerys lyrically intonated. 

Lyanna giggled and shook her head a little too enthusiastically, which garnered smiles from both of her parents.

“I’ll fetch us a meal, and we’ll turn in early, get some rest tonight.” Jon said, nodded to Daenerys and left the cabin. 

She lifted her daughter up and went to sit on the edge of the bed, sitting the girl on her knee. She told Lyanna about Winterfell - the large castle in the North where her father had grown up. About how there was a large battle, where the evil Night King and his army attacked, and how she and Jon had fought riding on her two dragons, Rhaegal and Drogon. 

Jon returned about the time Daenerys got to the part of the story where Arya destroyed the Night King just in time, before he was able to kill Bran. The little girl was captivated by the story. Jon sat next to them on the bed and listened as she finished the tail, offering her a plate of cooked venison, potatoes and bread. 

They ate in silence, Jon still able to tell Daenerys’ mind was wrestling with her feelings about Winterfell, her apprehensions of Sansa and how she might react. 

When they finished eating, Jon set the plates on the table and lifted Lyanna from her mother’s lap, hugging the child close. She hugged him in return. Daenerys rose and they put the child in her night clothes and laid her in the small bed. 

“Tomorrow might be the start of an adventure,” the young mother whispered to her daughter, giving her a kiss on her head. Laying the child in her bed, Daenerys hummed the lullaby as she did every night, until her daughter drifted off to sleep. 

She rose, sat next to Jon on the bed again, and he took her hand.

“Still worried about Winterfell?” Jon asked in a low voice.

She put her hand over his and looked to him. 

“Yes. Sansa… she won’t like seeing me again. She’s Queen in the North now. What will she  _ do? _ ” 

“She won’t harm you. I won’t let her,” he reassured her. “I will make her understand who you are now, what happened to you.” 

Daenerys rested her head on his shoulder and said in a whisper, “I became what she feared I was all along…” 

“And she bore some responsibility for that. I never held her to it… We didn’t speak much before I left to come back to the North.” 

She sighed and squeezed his hands, turned and kissed his cheek. She then rose and stepped to the small desk, sat and started to undo the loose braids she had favored recently. Brushing her hair out, she caught Jon’s eye as he watched. He always loves watching her prepare for bed, combing her long silver hair. 

They both undressed and climbed into bed, Jon wrapping her up in his arms. 

“Everything will be fine, my love,” he whispered. 

She turned toward him and kissed him deeply, pulling him toward her. She made it clear that she wanted more than just his arm around her. 

_ “Avy jorrāelan,”  _ she whispered to him between passionate kisses. It was then a while longer before they fell asleep in each other’s arms. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a while to write this one... I find that dialog isn't that difficult, it's the mundane stuff to move the story along that ends up being a bit challenging. The little smutty bit wasn't difficult either, but I hope I did it justice. Since dialog seems to be easier for me, I already have a lot of the interaction with Jon, Daenerys and Sansa written for the next chapter. I might be able to knock it out this weekend. Thanks for reading so far! I hope it's entertaining.


	9. Jon IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arrival at Winterfell

Jon IV

_ I can’t miss this shot… _ he rose slowly from a crouch, his longbow in his hand, an arrow nocked and ready to fly. His breath steady and calm, his feet planted, his body becoming motionless. The young buck, some thirty yards or so distant froze in place, its ears scanning for sound, its breaths short, sampling the air for signs of threats. 

_ If I miss this, it’s hard, dry bread, dry salted pork, and water for supper again…  _ The bread they obtained from Castle Black on their stop there a few days ago was hard and dry, and quite distasteful. Jon, Daenerys, Lyanna, and Tormund had all grown tired of the food. They had a good fortnight or so left to get to Winterfell. The last few evenings, Jon and Tormund had set out to hunt for something better to eat… but his skill hadn’t been quite up to the task of felling any prey, so hard bread and salted pork were staples for longer than they would have preferred. 

His attention turned back to the hunt. The cool breeze through the woods on his face assured him that his prey wouldn’t catch his scent. His fingers curled around the bow’s string, his arm, and his back flexing to draw the string slowly rearward, until his finger rest against his chin. He slowly inhaled and loosed the arrow. 

  
With a soft ‘twang’ and a wisp of air, the arrow sailed true and buried itself in the side of the buck. The animal had barely a moment to react to the sound, but it was not quick enough. It tried to spring forward to flee, but the arrow had struck true. The beast’s strength left its body in a short moment. It fell to the ground and became still. 

“OH, BOY!! HELL OF A SHOT!!!” the loud voice bellowed behind him, and a solid strike of Tormund’s hand against his shoulder shook him from his statuesque stance. “‘Bout time you hit something!” 

Jon shook his head and regarded Tormund, as they both stepped to the fallen animal. “I’m sure glad you can be quiet at least  _ sometimes _ my friend!” 

“The only times for quiet are hunting…. And when your woman is mad at you!!” the red-haired man let out with a hearty laugh. Jon couldn’t help but laugh and shake his head at the comment. 

They approached the deer and Jon retrieved his arrow. Then he cleaned the blood from its point and shaft and returned it to the quiver hanging at his side. They hoisted the animal by its hind legs, and with a length of rope, hung it from a low branch and proceeded to clean the kill. 

With a few more jokes and jests, Tormund and Jon quartered the carcass, and fetched branches to build a spit and feed the campfire. They made the short walk back toward the King’s Road, where Daenerys, Lyanna, and Ghost awaited. 

Daenerys had gotten a pile of wood set up and set ablaze. The four horses were secured to a nearby tree. Lyanna sat against Ghost, who was laying leisurely across from the fire. 

Jon and Tormund approached from the forest, the tall red-haired man taking the flanks of the deer, and slinging them over a low branch close by. Jon stepped to Daenerys and gave her a kiss, and they shared a smile. He then unstrung his bow and leaned it and the quiver of arrows next to the tree the horses were bound to, then went to the hanging flanks of venison and cut a large slab off with his knife. 

"Here you go, boy,” He tossed the meat to Ghost, who caught it and started eating. Lyanna laughed as she watched the wolf chewing. She laid against the great wolf giggling has he moved while eating. 

Daenerys and Jon stepped together, watching the wolf and their daughter for a moment.    
  
“I’ll get the cooking going,” he stated. Tormund stepped forward. 

“Don’t let him cook! We’ll be eating ashes!!” the wild man laughed. This brought a chuckle from Daenerys.  _ It’s true, I never know how long to cook anything!  _

“OK,” Jon laughed. “I’ll get our tent set up, then!” 

Daenerys shook her head at him, and took his knife from him, cut a few large strips from the flanks of venison, and secured them to a long stick. Tormund added wood to the fire and assembled a spit over the fire. 

Jon laid a deerskin down near the fire so he and Daenerys could sit. She sat and cozied up close to him. Tormund sat across from the fire and watched the pair. 

“I bet you two wish you had some time alone” he called across the fire to them. “The way you two were going at it before, I figure you’re going to have more children than the rest of us put together!” 

“TORMUND!” Daenerys chided, her eyes wide and her cheeks flushing. Jon chuckled, and his cheeks reddened with embarrassment. Lyanna looked up and giggled, though she didn’t understand the jest.

“What? I told him he needed a woman… and look at how happy he is now! He used to wander off into the woods for hours, and slink back all sad and quiet. You’ve made him happy again.” Tormund responded, then turned his head and eyes up in thought, his brow furrowed, “Wait, I’m not sure I’ve ever  _ seen  _ Jon happy!!” he mused. 

Jon smiled broadly and shook his head, Daenerys looked up at him with brows raised. Jon turned to her and kissed her temple as he hugged her close. 

They ate the cooked venison and enjoyed a small measure of ale they obtained at Castle Black. Daenerys hated the swill, but it was something other than water. Jon didn’t mind it much, he had grown used to it and again lamented that the Night’s Watch, being thousands of years old, should be better at brewing ale.  _ We’ll have better once we get to Winterfell.  _

The night chill was setting in. It would not be freezing this night, but it would still be cool enough to warrant blankets, and lying close together. Jon welcomed the thought. Feeling the woman he loves, the mother of his beautiful daughter, close to him every night calmed his mind and brought peaceful sleep. Daenerys was resting peacefully as well. She had awoken only a few times in recent weeks having been visited by her night terrors. 

She had related to him that she felt they would never recede completely, but that Jon’s closeness helped keep them at bay. She told him that no matter how peaceful things were, she would never feel free of the burden of guilt for what she had done, she would never be free from the memories and dreams of fire, and smoke, and the smell of death.  _ If there were some way for redemption, some way to bring her peace, I would do anything to give it to her….  _

The sun had set by the time they finished their meal. The tent was set up, and Daenerys set about laying out the blankets and skins to make their bed. Lyanna still sat with and climbed all over Ghost, who seemed to greatly enjoy the attention. The wolf knew this was Jon’s pup, and he showed affection as if she were his own. Daenerys loved to watch the interaction. She knew Lyanna was more than safe. Ghost was the best guardian the little girl could have. 

Daenerys knelt down over Ghost and gave the massive wolf scratches under his snout as he regarded her, trying to lick at her face. 

“Hard to believe he was the runt of the litter!” Jon said as he watched. 

“The runt? Are you joking?” she replied back to him. She sighed and gave Ghost a kiss on his forehead, then picked up Lyanna to bring her to the tent. 

Jon took a moment to wrap the remaining cooked meat in some cloth and stowed it in the bags to be carried by the packhorse in the morning, tossing a chunk to Ghost before he was done. 

Tormund had set up a simple lean-to with some skins and laid out another to sleep on. He had already laid down and was beginning to snore.  _ I’m not sure I’ll ever understand how he falls asleep so fast.  _

Daenerys had removed her boots and outer clothes, setting them aside near the opening of their small tent. She changed Lyanna from her small riding dress into her simple night clothes and laid down next to the child, bringing the blanket over them. Jon watched for a moment from the opening, then removed his sword belt, boots, and his jerkin then crawled into the tent and pulled the flap closed and laid the sword next to him. He climbed under the blanket next to Daenerys and wrapped her in his arms, their child close to her. 

“Only another fortnight or so until we reach Winterfell” he quietly spoke. “We’re about west of Last Hearth…” 

Jon thought to the last time they were at Winterfell when Tormund arrived with the remnants of the wildlings he had taken to Eastwatch, and the few Night’s Watchmen they had found… at Last Hearth. He remembered how Tormund told him that everyone there was gone, blood and broken things all over, but no bodies... Save for one. The horrifying fate of young Ned Umber was beyond something Jon wanted to imagine. The poor boy was trying to save his people. 

Daenerys wrapped her small hand around his. “I’m…” she started… 

“Still unsure about Sansa?” he asked.

“Yes. Sometimes it fills me with dread. Sometimes…” 

He brought his hand up to her cheek and leaned his head over her to kiss her cheek. 

“It’ll be alright, I promise.” 

“Thank you, Jon…  _ Avy jorrāelan _ , “ she whispered as she closed her eyes and sighed. 

Jon lay awake for a while longer, listening to her breathe, listening to their daughter, until both were peacefully asleep. That peacefulness put his mind to ease, and sleep came quickly. 

  
  


******

A fortnight later, in the late afternoon, the quartet arrived at the north gate of Winterfell. Four horses, and the great white dire wolf. Jon at the lead approached the open gate and the single guard, a slender young man, clad in the brown leather brigandine armor the Northmen favored, a steel helmet on his head and a spear in his hand.    
  
“Who goes there?” the young lad inquired, stepping in front of Jon’s horse. Jon stopped and regarded the young soldier for a moment.   
  
“Jon Snow, Lady Sansa’s brother”    
  
“ _ Queen  _ Sansa!” the young lad snapped back.    
  
“Queen Sansa,” Jon corrected. “Please inform Her Grace that I have arrived.”   
  
The young man recalled having seen Jon Snow in Winterfell before the Long Night, in the preparation. He also knew the white dire wolf that was Jon’s companion, so he was assured the man on the horse in front of him was Jon Snow.   
  
“Lord Snow,” he said courteously, as he gave a slight bow. “Please, enter, you know where the stables are, of course?”    
  
“Of course,” Jon replied. He turned to Daenerys, who had pulled the hood of her cloak over her head.  _ She’s nervous about meeting Sansa again. Honestly, I am, too. How will she react to this?? _ She met his eyes with worry showing in her own. He nodded to her and gave her a reassuring smile. 

Jon led their small party to the stables as the young guard dashed off toward the inner keep to inform the Queen in the North of the new arrivals.    
  
Reaching the stables, Jon dismounted first, Tormund, who was still a bit uneasy on horseback made his way safely to the ground and led the packhorse to the hitching rail.    
  
Jon then came around the side of Daenerys’ mount and took Lyanna from her mother as she handed the child down, then Daenerys deftly dismounted. Jon was always impressed at the tiny woman’s prowess on horseback. Her time with the Dothraki taught her a lot, and she had spent many hours and days riding. Jon gave Daenerys a quick kiss and passed their daughter back to her. 

Stepping around from behind his horse, he saw Sansa walking toward him, her long fiery hair bound behind her, wearing a dark grey dress with a pin of the Stark house sigil, a dire wolf below her left shoulder. A chain around her neck looped through a ring hanging below her neck, the length of chain hanging and collected at her right waist. 

She smiled as she strode toward Jon, two guards flanking her a few steps behind. Young sturdy lads, wearing the same brown leather brigandine, but with helmets edged in gold, indicating their status as Queen’s Guard. Jon smiled and took a step toward Sansa. 

“Jon!” she said enthusiastically, trying not to smile or express too much enthusiasm.  _ She’s trying to be reserved, queenly.  _

Before she made it to Jon, Daenerys stepped from around the horse and stood next to him, holding their daughter in one arm, lowering the hood of her cloak with the other hand.    
  
Sansa looked to the figure that had stepped next to Jon and stopped dead in her tracks. Her visage went pale and serious, almost scared. “Guards!” she yelled, as the two behind her snapped forward to her sides, hands on the hilts of their swords. Her gaze was fixed on Daenerys, anger welling up behind her narrowing eyes. Daenerys’ eyes went wide, and a hint of fear showed in her brow and her frown.    
  
Jon stepped between the two women and raised his hands. “Sansa!” he implored. “Sansa!!” he persisted gaining her attention. 

“What is…  _ HOW  _ is  _ SHE  _ here!?!?!” Sansa loudly protested, confused. 

Jon again implored, requesting Sansa’s attention, “It’s a story, and I’ll tell you, but please relax. Please.” he importuned. 

Sansa raised her open hand to have her guards relent, and they responded appropriately, stepping back and relaxing their arms at their sides. Jon stepped back to Daenerys’ side.    
  
“Sansa.” he stated plainly, “this is my daughter, Lyanna. This is  _ our  _ daughter,” he indicated, putting a hand to Daenerys’ shoulder. 

“Wait. Your..  _ daughter?? _ ” Sansa questioned, a surprised look crossing her countenance. 

“Yes,” Daenerys finally spoke. “Jon has a daughter. Much has happened.” 

Sansa’s expression turned into a glare again as she regarded Daenerys having heard her words. 

“Sansa, we should speak,” Jon requested. “There is no threat here. Please. Relax. Please trust me” he stepped closer to Sansa, placing a hand on her shoulder. Her guards reacted stepping closer again, but she quickly waved them off. 

She turned to her guard and dismissed them, “leave us, this is my brother and there is no danger here.” Then she turned back to Jon. “in the solar, we can speak there.” She turned abruptly and started striding quickly toward the arch she emerged from. 

Jon looked to Daenerys and could see the fear hadn’t left her eyes. She was still afraid that Sansa could bring to bear wrath against her for what she had done. Jon gave her a reassuring look.  _ She knows I would never let anything happen to her... _   
  
“Tormund, can you look to the horses? I’ll have someone fetch you and find us all some chambers shortly. Ghost, stay here, OK boy?” he implored his two best companions. Ghost obliged and slid off to find a place to lay.    
  
“Aye, good luck with the Queen in the North… she seems….  _ Happy  _ to see you!” the red-haired wildling intoned jokingly. Jon gave a weak smile in return. 

He then took Daenerys by the arm and smiled at her, and at their daughter. “It’ll be alright. Please trust me. I would never let harm come to either of you.” Daenerys smiled up to him and nodded. Her fear had not abated in the least, but he could understand why. Sansa never trusted her, assuming she was as bad as the Targaryens that preceded her, and after what had transpired in King’s Landing, she surely wasn’t disproven. 

Jon led the pair into the main keep, to the solar. Tables set up the way they had been when last he was in this room, the head table in front of a great hearth, with several finely carved chairs lined up behind it. Sansa stood next to the central chair, looking off to the side as the trio entered. Sansa moved the chair aside and leaned over the table, her hands resting on its dark wood, and glared at Daenerys.   
  
“How is she even here, Jon?” she flatly asked. Jon stopped, Daenerys beside him. Lyanna was looking around the room but remained silent.    
  
“She, well, it’s a lot like what happened to me.”    
  
“How could she be here? Why would  _ anybody  _ try to bring  _ her  _ back? She slaughtered an entire city!!” 

The ire raised in Jon’s eyes as he stepped forward, almost to the table and bellowed “And I  _ killed  _ her for it. I drove my dagger into her heart!” tears welled in his eyes and his voice cracked.    
  
Sansa was taken aback for a moment, shocked at the conviction and disappointment in his voice. Jon looked down at the table, then back up to Sansa, still wide-eyed, taking in his reaction to her question. 

“I killed her,” he said quietly, “it was the most difficult thing I have ever done.”    
  
He looked up to Sansa, his eyes wet with tears. “I loved her, Sansa.” 

Daenerys stepped forward, but not quite even with Jon. He hung his head and spoke quietly “she did what she did because she was hurt, she lost her dear friend, she lost another one of her children, and because I wasn’t strong enough to love her… and because she was betrayed.”

“Betrayed?” Sansa asked defiantly.   
  
Jon lifted his head again, and with ire rising again. “Yes, betrayed. By  _ you.  _ You swore to me to keep my true name secret, before the sacred heart tree, and you broke that oath almost immediately!” he said quietly, narrowing his eyes at her.

“You sewed conflict among allies and heaped scorn upon a woman who came to help  _ us  _ in our time of need against certain death. She lost and sacrificed so much for us, that we may survive. But that meant so little to you. I only told you of my true birth so that you would know that your father had never dishonored your mother, to give you and Arya that peace. But you used it against the woman who turned the tides for us, without whom we would surely be dead.” 

His hands were fists pressed to the table, and Sansa was taken aback at the declaration Jon had made. Daenerys had stepped to Jon’s side, placing a hand on his shoulder, a sadness in her eyes as she looked to him. She could see the anger and disappointment boiling inside him. 

“You… said you forgave me” Sansa weakly replied, her eyes wide with surprise at the fiery missive Jon just laid upon her.    
  
“Aye, I forgave you in my shock and my sorrow, but I  _ never forgot _ what led us to where we were. Had you kept your oath to me… it might have never happened… Thousands of people might not have died...” his voice trailed off, tears running down his cheeks. 

Daenerys’ eyes were welling with tears. Jon turned to her to regard her, tears still in his eyes. 

“He’s right” Daenerys offered, not looking to Sansa. “I begged him not to tell you or Arya. It was selfish of me,” she looked to Sansa and continued, “but I knew your concern for the North would drive you to use it as information, not as a reassurance of your father’s honor…”    
  
Closing her eyes for a moment, then opening them again to meet Sansa’s, Daenerys continued, in a softer tone, “I felt alone and betrayed, and angry above all of it. Tyrion told Varys, of course, and he plotted against me. I was cornered, scared and angry. Had Tyrion never known, things would have been very different.” 

Sansa was stunned to silence, trying to process it all. After a long pause, Jon continued.   
  
“And now she’s back. Drogon took her to Volantis, where a red priestess brought her back, like the red lady Melisandre brought me back after I was murdered.” Jon included.

“I don’t quite understand why,” Daenerys offered, looking to Jon, then back to Sansa, “but I know that I love Jon and that we belong together. I am… “ she lowered her head “I am sorry for the things I’ve done, and I may never achieve redemption. I am no queen now. I am just Daenerys. A mother, and a woman who loves this man.” she looked up to Jon, who met her eyes. She smiled gently at him. Lyanna stirring in her arms. 

“As Jon said, this is your… niece… Lyanna” drawing Sansa’s attention to the little girl in Daenerys’ arms. Her dark braided hair and dark eyes regarded Sansa with curiosity. 

“I’m sorry, Jon,” Sansa said somberly, after a long silence. She looked at the beautiful child, then up to Jon. “I did what I thought was right for the North, but I never meant to hurt you. If I had known… if I had realized what I might have set in motion, I would not have done it.” 

Jon nodded. “It’s done, and all we can do now is go from here. Daenerys is... “ he turned to smile at her, “she’s the woman she was inside the queen she wrapped herself in. She is the woman I love, that I will love to my dying day,” he brought his hand to Daenerys’ cheek as she smiled up to him. He then reached to take Lyanna from her grasp, holding her up and then bringing her to rest on his hip.    
  
“Lyanna, my little love, this is your aunt, Sansa.”    
  
Sansa smiled at the girl. Jon walked around the table to stand before Sansa, offering the girl to her. Sansa’s smile broadened.    
  
“Lyanna, after Aunt Lyanna… or… your mother,” Sansa stated, looking at the girl lovingly. She was family, and Sansa was sure to love her family. 

“Aye, she was born far away… I didn’t know Daenerys was alive, or that we had a child until just a few weeks ago.” 

“Please, sit” Sansa bade, motioning to the chairs. Daenerys stepped around the table and took the chair next to Jon, who took the chair next to him and pulled it away from the table to allow his love to be next to him. Sansa sat in the center chair, with the young girl on her lap, taking in the sight of the child. 

“She’s beautiful, Jon. She has your eyes, and her mother’s smile” Sansa mused. 

“She does,” he agreed. “As much of a surprise as it was, I can’t help but feel that this is how things are supposed to be.” He reached his hand to Daenerys and took hers.    
  
“I love this little girl more than I ever thought possible. And I love her mother with all my heart. This is my family.” 

“I’m so sorry, Jon, for everything.” Sansa somberly declared, “I wish things were different, that I had done differently… that I had trusted you and honored your wishes. And I am happy for you now.” 

“Thank you, Sansa. You know that I will always love you, too. You are my family as well,” he smiled at her, which she reflected while bouncing the little girl on her lap. 

“And Daenerys,” Sansa started, a look of contrite regret in her eyes, “I apologize that I treated you unfairly before I even knew you. I should have been grateful for your support in the fight against the dead.” 

“Thank you, Sansa. It means a lot to me, it truly does,” Daenerys smiled to her.

“So what now?” Sansa asked of Jon.    
  
“I have a family. I guess I raise that family,” Jon replied, looking to Daenerys.    
  
Daenerys chimed in, “do you know why Jon was summoned here?” 

Sansa regarded both of them, “Honestly, I do not. I received a raven from King’s Landing, from Samwell Tarly, only noting that Bran wanted to summon you to Winterfell and that he had sent another raven to Castle Black, so that word could be delivered to you. A subsequent raven indicated that Samwell is on his way here.” 

“Sam is coming here?” Jon queried. 

“I guess so,” Sansa responded. “I wouldn’t expect him here for maybe another week. Please, chambers have been prepared for you, although I only expected you and maybe your friend Tormund.”    
  
“It’s alright, Daenerys and Lyanna will stay in my chambers,” Jon responded. He stood before Sansa, who rose with Lyanna in her arms, offering the child to Jon.    
  
“Your Grace,” he said. “That’ll take time to settle with me!” he exclaimed. Sansa gave a quiet chuckle at the thought. 

“It’s alright, Jon, we don’t have to stand on pomp and circumstance. You are still my brother. You will always be my brother.” she said softly, reaching out to touch Lyanna’s head and stroke her hair. The girl smiled in return, her father smiling down to her. “You should have baths. The road was long and must have been tiring. I’ll have one of the small beds brought up to your chambers for Lyanna,” Sansa smiled at the child.  _ There’s no way she couldn’t love this little girl.  _ My _ little girl.  _

“Aye, it was a bit of a journey, but it’s good to see home again,” Jon responded with a smile, then his thoughts turned to the hot springs below Winterfell, and the warmth and relaxation of a bath were welcoming after many days in the saddle. 

Sansa rose from her chair and stepped to leave the solar, reaching the door, she turned back. “One more thing, Daenerys.” 

“Yes, Your Grace” Daenerys replied.

“Your dragon. Where is it?” the Queen in the North inquired, a curious yet serious look in her eyes.    
  
“Drogon is north of the Wall. He will remain there… unless I need him, or I am in danger. There is nothing to fear.” Daenerys assured her.    
  
Sansa nodded to her and exited the solar.    
  
Jon turned to Daenerys and leaned forward to give her a quick kiss, which she welcomed warmly. Then she kissed Lyanna on the forehead.    
  
“My good little girl,” the young mother cooed to her daughter. Jon smiled seeing this loving interaction.  _ My family. _

“M’lord,” a young female voice called from the doorway. “I’m Larra, a steward of the Queen. I’ll show you to your chambers now.” 

“Robb’s old chambers, I take it?” Jon inquired.    
  
“I don’t know who occupied the room, m’lord, I haven’t been here but three years,” the girl replied. Jon regarded her, giving her a look. She was maybe 16 years old with brown hair, and warm deep blue eyes, with a charming smile.    
  
“Thank you, Larra,” he started, “lead the way.” 

Jon put his free hand to Daenerys’ back, gently guiding her forward. Once in the large hallway, he put his arm around her shoulders and held her close as they walked. Through the hallway, up some stairs to the chambers. 

“Robb’s old room,” Jon mused. Larra motioned into the room as two men were leaving.    
  
“Brought the small bed up, as Her Grace requested!” one of them said.    
  
“Thank you,” Jon offered as the two men gave a slight bow and walked away.    
  
“I’ll bring some blankets for the small bed. Your companion can use the room next door. Shall I fetch him?” Larra asked.    
  
“Please,” Jon answered, “we’ll be off for baths shortly.” 

He entered the room after Daenerys and set Lyanna down on her own feet, and then surveyed the room. It had been many years since he had been in this room. Robb was always at least pleasant with him, and they enjoyed sparring and their lessons at sword with Ser Rodrick. 

The cold stone walls oddly felt welcoming. Even though this was his brother’s room, he was still happy to be here. The room was larger than his cabin in the North. A large bed opposite the door, a large window in the middle of the wall to the left, with heavy oaken shutters, a fireplace and a welcoming broad hearth to the right. The small bed brought in was situated in the corner closest to the fireplace. A large oak armoire stood to the left of the window, and a small table with two chairs sat to the right of the door. A dark bearskin rug sat upon the stone floor, candles in sconces near the head of the bed. 

“It’ll be nice to sleep in a real bed again,” Jon sighed. 

“I don’t think the one at Castle Black counts,” Daenerys chimed, with a short laugh. 

“Aye, nothing was ever comfortable at that place,” 

“And this is your bed, for now, my little love,” Jon spoke softly to his daughter, taking her hand and leading her to the small bed that had been brought up for her. “We’ll get our things, and we’ll go take a warm bath. Does that sound fun?” 

Lyanna nodded to him, then looked around the room, taking it all in. This was a strange new place for her. Jon picked her up and sat her on the small bed, upon which she laid back and then began to roll around on, giggling playfully. 

No sooner than Jon stood, Tormund barreled into the room, carrying their knapsacks, satchels, and saddlebags, then he unceremoniously dropped them on the bearskin rug at the foot of the bed.

Daenerys gave him a wide-eyed look of surprise mixed with joking disappointment as Jon shook his head at his friend. 

“What?” the red-haired man questioned, halfway feigning confusion. “I brought up your things!” 

“Thank you, my friend. Your room will be the next one down,” Jon instructed, shaking his head with a grimace. 

Tormund pointed at the wall to indicate the direction of the room, the wall to his right, to which Jon nodded in confirmation. The fire-bearded man stepped to the wall and knocked on the stone with his fist. 

“Good. Solid. I won’t be hearing you two all night!” he intoned with a wicked grin toward Jon, then Daenerys.    
  
“Tormund!” Daenerys exclaimed, her pale cheeks flushing a little, jovial surprise and indignation crossing her pale features.

“Better get settled in, my friend. We’re going to have baths. The evening meal won’t be too long afterward. We’ll see you there?” Jon resumed.

“Aye. I hope the food is good. Last time I was here it was shit,” Jon’s friend sniggered, and then he left the room, first walking the wrong direction, then walking back past the open door toward his chambers. 

Daenerys approached Jon, with the lingering look of comical doubt in her eyes and her smile. 

“You chose some of the strangest friends, you know that?” 

“Aye. He’s practically family. There’s no other bond that comes close than when you fight alongside another man. When he saves your life, and when you save his. The trust is just, unmistakable,” he explained, breaking the jovial mood a little. 

Daenerys wrapped her arms around him and angled her head back to press her lips against his for a short, sweet kiss. She inhaled shortly and with a quick blink and wide eyes started, “Baths. We really need baths now!” 

“Aye, we do,” he agreed. 

“Come, Lyanna, we’re going to go have that bath now,” the young mother called to her daughter. 

  
  
  


  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This could have gone on longer, but it would have taken more time. I'm finding that the dialog and interactions aren't the difficult parts to write, it's interconnecting the scenes that take a bit! I wrote the main conversation between Jon, Sansa, and Daenerys a couple of weeks ago, before I finished the previous chapter! 
> 
> There will be more interactions with Sansa coming up. Samwell is coming, of course. I probably won't be doing other character points of view unless the story needs it. This is primarily Jon and Daenerys.


	10. Jon V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old friend arrives

  
Jon V

The faint smell of wood smoke met his senses, and the dim glow of the embers remaining in the fireplace provided faint light to the room. It was shortly before dawn, he knew. His mind had stirred thinking of the day before. He hadn’t seen his sister in years, and their meeting was somewhat tense he thought, though it must have been quite a shock for her to see Daenerys again. He still didn’t know to that moment how Sansa would react - she had seemed to be set against Daenerys from before they met. He understood how she, like many in the north, would be reluctant to accept a southern ruler - a Targaryen -but she couldn’t know that Daenerys was different. Sansa couldn’t know that Daenerys wanted to make a better country for all of the people, after all, she, like he, had put the people first risking herself, her armies and her children to come to the North and fight for them.  _ Sansa, and all the lords should have been grateful.  _

Why his sister, why both of his sisters, couldn’t appreciate that was something he couldn’t quite grasp. They had both gone through hardships and crucibles, many of which he didn’t know. All of the Stark children had suffered in one way or another, and most of them hadn’t survived, or had been changed by the journeys their fractured lives had taken them on. His disappointment in their mistrust of the woman he had come to love and believe in weighed on him more than he had realized. The Long Night - which had come sooner than he had hoped - and the revelation of his true birth both weighed heavily on his mind, leaving him unable to reconcile the flood of emotions and thoughts he had about his sisters, about his lover, about his father, his uncle, and himself. He remembered how his mind was a storm of thoughts, emotions and possibilities… and numbness. Had he the time to sort through them, he may have gained some sort of acceptance of the things he had learned. He might have affected things differently. 

Now, in the slight chill of the early morning, his love lying close beside him, his feelings - at least about himself, who he was, and the woman lying next to him - resolved, he still felt the apprehension about his sister, Sansa. She was now Queen in the North, controlling her own kingdom.  _ What does she think of Daenerys now? _ He wondered again and again.  _ Have my words had any impact? Does she trust me, or does she think I’m weak in the presence of the beauty that is Daenerys? Did she think I was only enamored with her before, and that I bent the knee out of some desire to win her affections?  _

The thoughts stirred his mind and wrested him from the last grips of his slumber. His sleep had been restful, the baths in the hot spring water were relaxing and cleansing. Recalling the moments with his family brought a happiness to his mind that fought against the apprehension of the doubts he had about Sansa. 

He raised his head and turned on his back, trying to move slowly. Daenerys stirred slightly, turning her head towards him. 

“Sleep, my love,” he whispered. “I’m going to visit my mother.” 

Her eyes opened for a moment, meeting his, and closed again as he leaned over to kiss her cheek. 

Sitting up, he looked to his daughter, his beautiful child, sleeping in her small bed. He wondered for a moment about her future. A Targaryen child with naught but her mother and father. No lands, no castle, no titles. What kind of life would she have? The best he could build for her, he and already resolved. His child gave him a purpose he couldn’t have conceived before he had met her. He wished dearly that he could have been there when she was born. Pulling on his breeches, he moved to her bedside, leaned over her and kissed her forehead. 

Donning his linen tunic, his leather jerkin, then his boots, he stepped to the fireplace and added a small log. He looked back to Daenerys sleeping soundly, strands of her long, pale hair hanging over her beautiful pale features. 

Ghost rose from his rest at the foot of the small bed Lyanna lay sleeping in, silently stepping to Jon’s side. 

“Stay here with them,” Jon whispered, scratching behind the wolf’s ears. Ghost looked at him for a moment, then slid back to the foot of the small bed, sniffed at the child, then looked up to Jon, and laying back down. 

As quietly as he could, Jon stepped to the door, opened it and exited, latching the door slowly. Descending through the familiar halls and stairways, he made his way through the courtyard, to the door leading to the crypts. A light breeze carrying the smell of wood smoke and pine was ever-present, and a faint light to the east was starting to build on the horizon, but the keep was still asleep. Aside from one of the few guards on the wall, the people of Winterfell still slumbered. 

Again attempting to be quiet, he opened the heavy door to the crypt and stepped down the stone stairs. A torch on the wall faintly flickered, almost having spent its life. Jon retrieved another torch from the large sconce near the base of the steps and set it alight from the dying flame of its fading twin.

He walked the short distance, his steps echoing in the hollow stone hallway. The musty smell of the crypts greeted him with its familiarity. He passed the statue of Starks who had come before until he came to the statue of Lyanna Stark. Using the torch, he lit two candles at the base of the statue. 

He stood and stared at the stone face for long moments. He almost lamented that he had learned of his birth, with all the turmoil it had caused. Had he never known… the possibilities were myriad, but he knew he would have been by Daenerys’ side, come what may. He would have done everything he could to assuage the pain of the losses she had faced. She would not have been alone. And when their daughter had come into the world, he would have been there. Nothing in the Seven Heavens could have pulled him away, he knew. 

The thoughts, the lamentations, the imaginings of the possibilities, of the moments he missed, of the moments that could have been, all coalesced, bringing a tear to his eye. He had to take comfort in knowing that in spite of the events that had transpired and laid his world low, it had been raised again. 

His thoughts were still swirling, and his eyes damp, filling his consciousness so fully that he almost didn’t recognize the sound of steps coming from his side. 

He turned to see his tall sister, her long red hair pulled behind her head, a heavy cloak around her shoulders, concealing most of her form, approaching. 

“I knew you’d visit the crypts,” she offered as she stepped to his side and faced the statue before him. 

“Aye, I wanted to see my mother. At least what I could of her.” 

She faced him as he looked at the face of the statue. “I wish you could have known her. I wish we all could have,” she paused for a moment. “It’s good to know her last days were not ones of horror. She was in love, and she brought you into the world.” 

Jon nodded. “And my father… a whole war was started by a lie. So much pain and suffering because a man loved a woman…. And then so much pain and suffering that could have been averted… if a man had just loved a woman...” 

She put her hand on his shoulder, as his eyes dampened and a tear rolled down his cheek. 

“I’d give anything to change it, I would,” he breathed, then turned to meet his sister’s eyes. “She would, too.” 

“Daenerys?” she questioned. 

“Aye. She would.” 

“You believe that?” Sansa inquired, her tone genuine. 

“I do,” he intoned quietly as he turned back to the statue of his mother.

“She truly regrets what she did?” 

“Yes, she does. It brings her night terrors. She wakes up in tears, shaking. She tells me it would happen every time she fell asleep, for months. Since she has been with me, it has lessened, but it still happens. It pains her what she did.” 

“Is she different now, do you think?” Sansa asked again. “I want to believe she is, for your sake, but I’m not sure…” 

“I understand how you could doubt. You didn’t know her well, thinking she couldn’t be much different from the Targaryens that came before her, but you didn’t give her a chance. Many feared that a Targaryen with dragons would simply come back to Westeros and burn everything to the ground to conquer it again. Cersei Lannister’s lies were no help with that. But Daenerys didn’t want to do that. She didn’t  _ want  _ to be her ancestors, she wanted to be something different.”

He turned to Sansa again and started, “I didn’t bend the knee because I wanted to win her favor. She was willing to fight and to risk her armies and her children for us, for the North, and sake of  _ all  _ of the people. She was willing to risk herself, like I was, for  _ all  _ of the living. I bent the knee because I believed in her.” 

He inhaled and sighed slowly and continued, “Beneath the queen she wore like armor, she was a woman who just wanted to do good by the people, and was willing to risk her life to do it. I knew who she was, who she is, behind what everyone else saw of her. That’s why I came to love her.” 

Jon continued, looking back to the statue of his mother, dimly lit by the candles its base, flickering against the walls of the sepulcher and the arched stones above it. “In Essos, she freed slaves, thousands... hundreds of thousands. She saved people from horrible fates and ended many an evil man. She brought down the trade and oppression of slavery itself. She wanted the Iron Throne, not just for her right and the name of her family, but to change the world we live in. She wanted to break the wheel - the powerful lords and the rich, rolling over the common folk, grinding them like grist in a mill - for their own ends.”

He looked to Sansa again. She stood still, listening intently. A grave look crossed Jon’s visage, “All of  _ us _ , the lords and ladies of Westeros, we keep our feuds, our quarrels, and our grudges and make war on each other again and again, and it is the smallfolk who bleed and die on the fields for our pride. We blame each other for the sins of our fathers, and their fathers before them, in a cycle that never ends. It has to end.” 

He saw the recognition in her eyes. He knew she remembered how she wanted him to take the castles and lands of the Umbers and the Karstarks from young Ned Umber and Alys Karstark, for the sins of their fathers. Jon had refused to do so. Blaming the children for the sins of their fathers was not right. It was not the actions of the child, nor was it their responsibility. The Northern Lords at first seemed content to let their enmity smolder, and to level their perceived justice at the children of the Lords who had betrayed their liege, but Jon would not have it. His words made them see the wisdom and understood that unity was paramount given the threat facing the North and the whole of the realm. 

“Now, under Bran, and yourself, will the wheel be broken? Will it stay broken?” he asked, facing the statue, not expecting an answer. 

“I don’t know, Jon,” his sister replied quietly, after considering his words. 

“It’s why I accepted being sent North. It’s free, it’s pure. No Lords, no houses. It is peaceful.” 

“Will you go back?” Sansa asked quietly. 

“I don’t know,” he sighed. “It is peaceful up there. Daenerys, Lyanna and I could live in peace, as could our children to come.”

“More children?” she intoned with a playful smile. “Jon, I have a hard enough time believing you have just one child. When we were younger, I never thought you’d…” she halted for a moment. “I mean, surely women would find you… I…” 

Jon gave a short laugh. “Aye, I never thought I would have children. The Night’s Watch would have been my life if times were different. Fate had other plans.”

They shared a smile for a moment, sharing it as the young siblings they had been once. In spite of their differences, they were family. 

Sansa broke the moment, stating flatly, “She still has a dragon. If she wanted to, she could raze Winterfell to the ground…”

Jon was taken aback.  _ She still can’t let it go…  _

“I have to have the concerns of my people in mind. Their safety and wellbeing, Jon.”

“Having a weapon, and intending to use it are not the same thing, Sansa. Please trust me. If ever, now,” he replied softly. 

Sansa narrowed her eyes as she considered him for a moment and nodded. 

“Thank you,” Jon breathed. 

After a moment, Sansa continued, “will you come break fast with me?” 

“I’ll stay awhile longer. I want to visit father as well.”

“I do trust you, Jon. You’re the most honest man, aside from father, that I have ever known.” 

She embraced him in a tender hug, and left , her steps echoing in the dark emptiness. Only Jon and the statues of his forebears stood in the dimly illuminated crypts. The light from the torch and the few candles flickered, with the occasional pop or crackle quietly echoing. His mind was lost in thought, reflecting on his mother, his father - both the honorable man that raised him and the one he had never known. 

Adrift in his thoughts for long moments… minutes, an hour or more maybe, he almost didn’t hear the approaching footsteps. He didn’t react until her hand rested upon his shoulder. He inhaled deeply and turned his head to see Daenerys looking up to him, a hint of concern in her eyes. Lyanna resting on her hip, the small child resting her head against her mother’s shoulder, not quite awake yet.

“You’ve been here for a while,” she voiced quietly. 

“Aye. Sansa visited a while as well.” 

“And?” 

He turned his head back to the statue of the mother he had never known. “I don’t quite know where she stands. She’s still unsure about you, but she says she trusts me.” 

“Do you think that is enough? Will we be safe here?” Daenerys asked, looking to their daughter. 

He nodded and put his arm around her shoulders. “We will. I won’t let harm come to you. Either of you,” he pulled her close and kissed her head. They stood close in the damp chill of the crypt, feeling each other’s warmth. 

After several moments, Jon lamented, “I wish I had never known. I wish Sam had never known, and Bran had never known…” he trailed off. Still gazing at the statue before him, he could feel Daenerys’ soft gaze, her sad eyes looking up to him. 

“I never would have left your side,” he continued. 

“There’s nothing we can do about the past, Jon,” she replied, almost in a whisper. 

They stood together for a long moment, not a sound disturbed the stillness of the crypts. 

“We should eat, your daughter will surely start to grumble any minute now.” 

Lyanna giggled quietly, bringing a smile to both of her parents' faces.

******

  
  


In the hall, Sansa and Maester Wolkan sat at the high table, with several empty chairs adjacent to them. Jon and Daenerys sat at the end closest to Sansa, with little Lyanna upon her mother’s lap. Two young armored men stood behind Sansa and the Maester, and a dozen others sat and stood at the tables across the hall, breaking their fasts on bread, bacon, ham, washing it down with milk or water. 

Jon could see the gazes of the men colored with curiosity. Most of them were familiar to him, having served in the armies of the North before the Long Night, some of them young enough to have barely been able to lift a sword in that great battle. A few of their names he thought he remembered, though, for most of them, only their faces were familiar. Their gazes went from courteous nods to him, to curious looks toward Daenerys. Some muttering in low voices accompanied glances, but most were quiet. 

The meal passed mostly in silence. Daenerys had wanted to visit the library to find something appropriate to start teaching their daughter to read and write. The maester could help with that, as educating the children of a given keep or castle fell to him. 

Jon escorted the pair to the library and looked for a few of the books he had remembered from his childhood. As much as Catelyn Stark didn’t want maester Luwin to waste time on him, the man always found ways to keep him up with the other Stark children. Books, however, were not Jon’s strength. He could read and write as well as the other children, but it was swordplay and riding that consumed most of his childhood ambition and enjoyment. 

Even the books reminded him of that. Days in the yard with Robb and Bran, sparring with wooden swords, shooting bows and carrying on as children, yet with no real understanding of what those things would mean when it came to real war, when men were cut and pierced and bled and died. Jon had seen more than enough bloodshed, he had decided. If he never saw another man die, it would be too soon, though he knew he would still raise his sword to defend those he loves. 

While Daenerys sat with Lyanna in the library, or in their quarters reading books to her, teaching her the letters of the common language, Jon would walk the walls of Winterfell, visit the Godswood, or sit with Sansa when she held council. Jon had no position, but his sister liked to have him there. The people of the North still loved and respected Jon Snow. Those that were honest enough knew that he had done right in bringing Daenerys and her armies and dragons north to defend against the Night King. Few could argue that the alliance was not necessary or that it was a detriment to the North. Though most knew at least rumors of what had happened in King’s Landing, it was so far removed from the North that it was oft thought of as exaggeration, of tall tales told by people who had heard it from someone who had, in turn, heard it from someone else. 

Of the rumors filtering through the keep now that Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen had returned was the notion that Daenerys had not died, that she had fled on her dragon in sadness after Cersei Lannister had burned much of the city in spite. The tales of the Sept of Baelor being destroyed not long before had reached far north, and it was well known that the evil she was capable of was near immeasurable. The Lannister queen’s concern for the common folk not being measurable at all. She had forsaken the north by going back on her word to send her armies north to fight with them in the Great War. 

Jon took some relief that the favored rumor seemed to be less damning to the woman he loved. While he himself would not foster lies to further any design, in this case, he would not go out of his way to correct anyone. 

The stewards and attendants treated Daenerys and their daughter well, with courtesy and a decent measure of curiosity. Sansa’s regard for her seemed to soften as well. Jon would notice his sister smiling at the mother and daughter more frequently at meals. After a few days, she had even engaged in polite conversation with Daenerys and had clearly warmed up quite wonderfully to Lyanna. The little girl could almost clearly say “aunt Sansa”, which always brought a loving reaction from her.

For nearly a week now, they had been at Winterfell. Tormund was getting increasingly restless, flirting boldly with serving girls and drinking prodigious amounts of wine, in spite of his constant whinging about the ‘sweet grape water’. Jon had to encourage him to venture out of Winterfell into the Wolfswood to perhaps walk or hunt. Tormund obliged several times, trying to coax Jon into accompanying him. Daenerys almost seemed on the verge of pushing Jon out with him the last day or two, if only so Tormund would have some company. Jon would try to have Ghost accompany the fire-haired wild man, but the wolf seemed to stubbornly prefer staying close to Lyanna. 

On the seventh day, early in the afternoon, horns blew from the tower above the South gate. Samwell Tarly and his party had arrived. Sansa had quarters prepared for Sam and his family. Jon only knew that Sam and Gilly had another child on the way before he had marched south nearly four years ago. 

Jon left Sansa in the main hall to greet his friend and strode through the courtyards from the main bailey to the gates. Sam sat on the buckboard of a small but sturdy wagon, covered with arched beams and canvas of a light cream shade. Seated next to him a blonde-haired boy of seven or eight, Little Sam to be sure. Behind the pair in the wagon, Jon could see Gilly smiling out at him as he approached. A dozen armored riders entered the gate around and behind the wagon, their unadorned armor clean and shining in the late afternoon sun. No direwolf crests on any of the armor, Jon noted, although this unsurprising. While Bran was born a Stark, whatever he was now, he didn’t think to regard himself as Bran Stark, as much as he did the Three Eyed Raven. The whole thing was still not quite clear to Jon, but he knew Bran was much more than just Bran whether this was a good thing or not, he was also unsure of. 

Sam smiled as Jon approached. Dressed in a plain off-white robe with a simple belt, he looked practically the same as he had when Jon had last seen him, right here in Winterfell. Sam stood from the buckboard and climbed down, as several soldiers of Winterfell and several stable hands approached. 

“Sam!” Jon called as he strode up to the wagon, embracing Sam as the larger man climbed down from the wagon. 

“Jon!” he replied, “it’s so good to see you again. You are well, I take it? You look well… if not a little… slender…” 

Jon met the comment with a quick chortle and retorted, “aye, a little leaner, but life hasn’t been so hard on me, I’d say.” 

Little Sam had climbed off the wagon to stand next to Sam, while Gilly and a small boy who appeared to be about the same age as Lyanna. The boy had dark hair and dark eyes, with the round cheeks of his father and the smile of his mother. 

“Gilly!” Jon greeted her. Dressed in a simple green dress with her long dark hair in braids along the sides. She embraced him in a hug and then lifted the small boy up to her hip. 

“This is Jon, Jon,” she introduced the child. 

Jon gave a short laugh. “I see you weren’t blessed with a daughter!”

“I said we’d name a boy after you, didn’t I?” Sam reminded. 

“Aye, and I hoped you’d have a daughter!” Jon clapped Sam on the shoulder and smiled at him and Gilly. “I’m happy that you are both well, as are your children. Welcome back to Winterfell.” 

Jon, Gilley, and Sam shared smiles as they looked each other over for a few moments, then Jon nodded and stepped to the side of the wagon. 

“Yory! See to our guests. Be sure their horses are brushed and fed and show the men to their barracks. See they have food and ale!” 

A young Northern guard nodded and attended the visiting escorts, and Jon stepped back to his friends. 

“Little Sam isn’t so little anymore, is he?” Jon queried, looking the boy over. 

“I’m not. I’m big now!” 

“And are you learning the sword and the bow yet?” 

“Father wants me to read books. Books are boring!” the boy replied with a slight look of despondency. 

“Oh, I let him train with the Man at Arms, but I keep him in the books as well. A good warrior should have a sharp sword  _ and  _ a sharp mind!” Sam chimed in. 

“Aye? Your father is right, a good warrior is a  _ smart  _ warrior. A strong sword and a strong mind are both equally of value.” The boy nodded. 

“I’ll show you to your quarters, then? The stewards will bring along your things.” Jon motioned toward the central bailey and walked with the four. The two rooms had been prepared, one for Sam and Gilly and another for the two young boys. 

“Do you remember your way around, Gilly?” Jon asked her, to which she nodded. “Good, can you take the boys around to show them the keep? I’ll need to speak with Sam.” 

She nodded, and Jon reached a hand out to her shoulder. “It is truly good to see you again. I’m glad you and the children are well. We’ll have more time to catch up this eve.” 

Jon led Sam to the library, stopping outside the heavy double doors. 

“Do you trust me, Sam?” Jon asked, stepping squarely in front of Sam, looking him in the eye. 

“You know I do, Jon. I trust you with my life,” Sam replied, nodding. “Why would you ask me this?” 

Jon looked him in the eye and then moved to open the doors, stepping into the library. Sam was quite familiar with the room. Large rows of shelves, stacked with books and scrolls ranging back hundreds, possibly thousands of years. Tables surrounded by chairs were in the middle of the room, and the far wall had a large fireplace, with a broad hearth. 

At the chair, facing away from them, two figures sat. The taller with long pale hair loosely braided, and small child to her left with long dark hair, loosely pulled back and tied with a red ribbon. 

As they approached, the figure with the long pale hair rose from the chair and turned. Daenerys stood next to the table in a grey dress, with a weak but welcoming smile. She did not speak. 

Sam stopped and did not speak, staring at her for long moments. Jon stepped forward to the smaller figure seated in the adjacent chair and lifted the small girl up, holding her against his hip. Sam had not looked away from Daenerys, his eyes widening with surprise. 

“Sam,” Jon implored, but the large man’s gaze didn’t waver. “Sam!” Jon insisted. 

Sam shook his head a moment and blinked, then met Jon’s eyes. 

“This is our daughter, Lyanna” 

“Your… Daughter? You and  _ her _ ?” 

“Yes, Sam… much has happened,” Jon stated plainly. Sam’s face was still pale with surprise, his gaze going between Jon, the child in his arms, and Daenerys. Ghost rose from his rest at the side of the table and stepped to Sam, sniffing at his hand. 

Almost absent of thought, Sam stroked Ghost’s head, then looked down to realize the great wolf’s red eyes were looking up to his. Sam smiled at Ghost, bringing his other hand to scratch behind his ears. 

Jon motioned to a chair on the opposite side of the table. “Please, sit, Sam. I’ll tell you everything.” 

Sam took the chair, as Jon seated Lyanna next to her mother. Daenerys resumed her seat, and Jon sat next to Sam, and Ghost took his place next to the table closest to Lyanna.

Jon’s friend knew as well as anyone had, what had happened in King’s Landing, and what Jon had done. He was, though, unaware of the depth of the love between Jon and Daenerys, and how much it had pained him to do what he had done. The story of how Daenerys had been taken to Volantis by her dragon, the red priestess, the child, the family she stayed with in Volantis followed. Jon explained it all, Daenerys staying silent, letting Jon lead with his friend. 

“So, a red priestess brings her back, as the Red Lady Melisandre did with you? But why?” Sam inquired.

“I don’t know, Sam,” Daenerys spoke, finally. “She could only tell me that our bloodline was not supposed to end. She told me that our children must carry on.” 

Sam stared at the table, trying to process what he had heard. Here she was in front of him. He knew Drogon had carried her body away in the direction of Volantis, but Bran had not been able to see where the dragon had gone. 

After a short while, in which Jon and Daenerys shared furtive glances, Sam looked up at her, then to Jon. 

“Bran says he couldn’t see you for some reason. He can see anyone, anywhere, as far as I understand. He said he couldn’t see you anymore, Jon. There were also reports of a dragon spotted flying north along the coast.” 

“Aye, that would have been Drogon. I found them in the Haunted Forest north of the Wall, more than three moon turns now, it must be. Some of the Freefolk have settled near the Milkwater, some twenty leagues north of the Shadow Tower. I had been living with them, Tormund as well.” 

“I heard you were to take the black again?” Sam queried

“Aye, but the Night’s Watch is no more. Most were lost during the Long Night… Edd and the rest were few even before that. There’s no need for the Watch anymore. The Freefolk pass through the wall freely. All of the gates have been opened. A few men still inhabit Castle Black, and from what I hear, Eastwatch as well. Some have nowhere else to go, some still hold to their vows. I took no vows. I just went north to live in peace.” 

Jon sighed as Sam listened and considered what he was hearing. 

“I had enough of war, of death… of love,” Jon looked to Daenerys as he continued, “I thought I’d live my life alone… then she returned to me, with our child.” 

Jon turned to regard Sam, sitting next to him at the table. “You know that love, Sam. You know what it is like to hold your child in your arms. Maester Aemon had said it well enough, ‘what is duty compared to a woman’s love, to the feel of a newborn child in your arms?’, or how he said it. Wise he was.” 

“Yes, Maester Aemon was a wise man. I’ve missed him greatly since he passed. And he was right, as are you…. There is nothing like holding your child in your arms, or the love of a woman,” Sam smiled as his thoughts no doubt went to Gilly and their two young boys.

Jon smiled at him and nodded, “I have a family now. I never dreamt of this, but it is real, and I could never want for more.” 

Sam nodded and smiled at Jon, and glanced to Daenerys, who was sharing in a smile. Lyanna was poking at the book in front of her, entranced by the illustrations of dragons and horses and knights in their armor. 

“Sam,” Daenerys started, “I was too proud to admit fault before… but I am not now. I am sorry for your brother. I know you had no love for your father, nor he for you, but your brother… If I had known the love Jon bore for you, I would have spared him. I’m sorry.” She reached her hand out across the table and rested it upon Sam’s, the truth of her regret in her eyes. 

Sam nodded and swallowed, pausing for a moment. “Thank you, your gr… I mean… Daenerys?” 

She nodded to him. 

“So what do you do now?” Sam inquired, looking from Daenerys to Jon. 

“I don’t know,” Jon replied, “We live our lives?”

“But why is it that Bran can’t see you, do you think?” Sam proposed.

Daenerys’ brow raised and she glanced at Jon, then back to Sam. Jon looked to her and saw her brow raise, then paused to let her continue. She lowered her hand to a pocket in her dress, then produced a small object wrapped in crimson silk, setting it upon the table in front of her. Unfolding the silk, the small ruby periapt reflected the pale sunlight streaming in from the windows at the side of the library. 

“This is why,” Daenerys stated. “The red priestess gave it to me, and said it would protect me... from… Bran.” 

Jon and Sam both raised quizzical glances, but it was Sam who spoke, “why would you need protection from Bran?” 

“After what I have done, how would the King of the Sev… Six Kingdoms react?” 

“Well, I don’t know… I guess… I haven’t considered that. I don’t think anyone would have ever expected you’d return.” Sam puzzled. 

“Best be cautions then,” Jon chimed in, still a bit taken aback, though not to a great degree. He could understand why Daenerys would keep such a trinket, but not why she hadn’t mentioned it, but it was no large concern. The thought of Bran being able to ‘see’ him at any time was a bit discomforting to know. 

“How does it work?” Jon questioned. 

Before Daenerys could start, Sam began, “well, Bran has to concentrate, and his eyes go white, then he can… “ Sam halted and looked to Jon, then Daenerys, realizing that the question was posed to Daenerys. “Oh, my apologies!” he stuttered. 

“It’s alright Sam,” Jon reassured him, with a chuckle that the large man joined in. Daenerys offered an amused look, seeing the two great friends interact. It was a brief, yet welcome moment of levity. 

“I don’t know how it works, but I take it that whatever power Bran has to see others, this prevents him from doing so,” Daenerys stated, looking at the shining red bauble. 

“Then I guess Bran wouldn’t be able to see us here, now?” Sam mused. “I’ll have to be sending a raven, you know? I’m to report to Bran. You know, just a little status?” 

“What would you tell him?” Jon inquired.

“Oh, I don’t know. At least that you are well and unharmed.” 

“And of Daenerys?” 

“I suppose… I could leave that out for now?” Sam raised his brow in question to see if Jon would agree. 

“I would suspect even if Bran could not see us here and now, he would have other ways. Lord Tyrion would surely have contacts…” 

Daenerys looked to Jon at the mention of Tyrion, but he couldn’t quite gauge her reaction to hearing his name. When last she had seen or spoken to Tyrion, he was a traitor to her, and would have been executed. Her look… worry? Pity? Regret? 

“Right,” Sam chimed. “Lord Tyrion is Hand, but he likes to remain informed, even outside of Bran’s ability to see, well, everything. It seems sometimes he doesn’t necessarily  _ know  _ everything all at once… I mean… he has to  _ try  _ to see things, it’s not like he sees everything all the time… I …” Sam looked up to see Jon’s brow raised and a pitiful smile. “Begging your pardon…” 

Jon smiled and shook his head, “it’s alright, my friend.” He looked to Daenerys and continued, “I don’t think we need to conceal anything. There is no threat here. Convey to your king that I am well, and that Daenerys has returned, along with our child. That she is no threat and has no design for anything other than a peaceful life for herself and our child.” 

“Alright,” Samwell assented. “I can do that. I’ll let you read it before I send it, then.” 

“Thank you, Sam,” Jon responded. “You should probably see to your family now.”

“Oh, oh yes. That’s a good idea,” Sam muttered as he stood. He started to give a bow toward Daenerys, but caught himself and smiled meekly, then looked to Lyanna, still engrossed in studying the illustrations in the book before her. “She’s beautiful, by the way. I’m happy for you.” 

“Thank you, Sam,” Daenerys smiled to him.

Jon rose to stand with Sam, while Ghost’s head popped up for a moment to regard the source of the sound that had disturbed his nap. They walked to the door, and at the threshold, Sam stopped and leaned a little toward Jon.

“Are you sure she’s… not… you know?” Sam asked quietly, making a snarling face as if to imply some sort of threat. 

“I’m sure, Sam. She has barely been away from my side for three turns of the moon. She harbors neither anger nor ambitions now,” Jon looked back to her, and their daughter sitting at the table. “She is just a mother now, and she loves that little girl with all her heart. She would never put her in jeopardy.”

Jon reached his hand out to Sam’s shoulder and clasped him as they shared a nod and a smile. 

Sam left to see to his family, and Jon returned to the library and sat across from Daenerys. The young mother was reading a part about the Dance of Dragons, when the Targaryen family fought a war among itself.  _ This family has history, and not all good.  _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies this took a few weeks, sometimes the creative juices just don't flow, and I don't want to force anything. I want to try to come out with a chapter every week, but that may be a little tough from time to time. Some pieces will move into place over the next couple of chapters that may reveal more of where I'm going with this. 
> 
> While I don't mind questions and any constructive feedback, I'd ask that if you don't like this work (or anyone elses for that matter), please don't bother posting comments denigrating it. That does no one any good at all. I know there will be some out there that won't like where I'm going with this, or how I get there. That's fine with me. There are 87000 other fics out there you can indulge in, and I hope you all find ones to your liking. 
> 
> I've started reading the books, and am nearly done with A Game of Thrones. Martin is really easy to read, and holy farts, he has names for EVERYONE. It's pretty amazing how many names he's come up with. I figure I should be able to read all five books by the end of the year or soon after. I may take some stylistic hints, but will try to stick to what was in the show over what was in the books if there are any contradictions. I'll also be crossing my fingers taht George gets off his duff and finishes The Winds of Winter sometime soon. I'm apprehensive, yet a bit excited to see how he ends his epic tale.


	11. Sansa I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa reflects

Sansa I

“It’s quite the same this day as the last, Your Grace,” Larra, the steward girl imparted in her strong northern accent, as she began to tidy the bed. Sansa had retired to her chambers after she broke her fast in the great hall. Jon, Daenerys, and Lyanna had been there as well. “They went to walk the walls together, then the lady took her girl to the library to teach her letters, and Lord Snow continued to walk the wall. His red-haired Northman friend joined him. His japes were… not ones to be repeated, Your Grace.” 

“Thank you, Larra,” Sansa replied while she looked blankly over a few papers on the table to the side of the room. 

Larra was reasonably smart, Sansa had thought, and she was pleasant and charming, friendly with the smallfolk in Winterfell and Wintertown without. She was valuable for her knowledge of the gossip and the willingness of the folk to confide in her. Nothing of any import happened in Winterfell or Wintertown without Larra catching wind and she was wont to share with her queen. She also had the good sense of knowing when to speak and when to listen. 

“What do you think of her?” Sansa inquired. 

“Of… Daenerys?” Larra shyly responded. 

“Yes. How has she been since you’ve made her acquaintance?” Sansa turned toward Larra in her chair. 

“She’s, well, Your Grace, she’s been kind and pleasant. She loves the child, and your… brother,” the girl paused and met eyes with Sansa. 

“What do you remember of her from before? Before the Battle of Winterfell?” the Queen inquired.

“Oh, I never met her then, Your Grace.” 

“I wouldn’t think so, but still. What did you think of her then? And after?” 

“Well, Your Grace, she came to help us. She came to fight the Night King with us, and they say we would have all been slaughtered were it not for her army and her dragons. I don’t know, I was in the crypts with my mother, but I know what I saw after the battle. So many dead. There musta’ been tenfold the number we had were it not for her armies.” 

Sansa’s eyes lowered a bit as she considered for a moment, “yes, the dead were great in numbers.” 

“So horrible. I was so scared in the crypts, and when the dead started to claw their way out of their tombs, I thought my heart would stop! It was so terrifying.” 

Sansa nodded and looked back to the girl, who continued to make up the bed. 

“After that, after the fightin’ was done, well, they say half of her army was gone. One of her knights, one close to her, died protectin’ her. Then one of her dragons was killed by that Euron Greyjoy, and her handmaiden murdered by Cersei Lannister. “ 

The girl paused and met eyes with Sansa before continuing, “and there was your brother, but he’s not your brother, Your Grace.” 

“No, he’s not, but he still is, to me. He’ll always be my brother.” 

“Aye, and she loved him, but learnin’ who he was born as… he wasn’t sure he could love her, not the way she was wantin’. Musta’ broke her heart, losing so many close to her. Then her advisor, the one they called the Spider betrayed her, conspired to tell the whole realm about your brother. I can imagine she’d be quite angered, hurt, and lonely. And when they attacked King’s Landing, she didn’t stop when they surrendered….” the girl trailed off. 

“Some say she had gone mad, sayin’ she was going to burn the realm what didn’t bend the knee, and Jon killed her. Others say she mounted her dragon and flew away in shame for what she had done. “ 

Sansa nodded. She had heard both stories and knew which one had been the truth. If she hadn’t known the truth of it, the latter would be easier to believe, she thought. 

“Which do you believe?” Sansa asked.

“Well, Your Grace, she’s here, so she couldn’tna been killed, I figure.”

“Right,” Sansa replied. She turned back to the papers on the desk. 

“I’ll just finish up, Your Grace. Do you need anything?” Larra asked.

“No, thank you Larra.” 

  
  


*********

The great hall cleared of the men and scullions taking up plates and remains of the midday meal. Daenerys had risen to leave, Jon rising next to her, when Sansa asked Jon to stay for a while. He kissed Daenerys, then lifted his daughter up to give her a kiss as well, telling her he’d come find them in a little while. The little girl wrapped her arms around his neck to hug him, then walked beside her mother when he put her back down. 

“Bye bye auntsasa!” the little girl stated, waving to Sansa, who couldn’t help but smile and wave back. 

“Samwell should be here any day now. I’ll need to speak with him when he arrives,” Sansa imparted. Jon nodded and took a seat across from the raised table.

“What about?” 

“We need men in the North. Not fighters, we need farmers. When the Night King drove south, anyone who wasn’t fortunate enough to make it to Winterfell or White Harbor or further south were slain. The Umbers and their smallfolk. Most of the Karstark lands fled. Alys has gone back but many farms are still want of men to work them. I’ve sent ravens to Bran asking to offer lands to men willing to farm, but few have come. The economy of the North is not well.” 

“Maybe they’re afraid that winter is yet to come, or that we’ve been in a spirit summer, that winter will fall upon us even stronger than before,” Jon offered. 

“Yes, this past winter was one the shortest known. Maester Wolkan has checked the records. Barely a year. That has the smallfolk suspicious. Their superstitions run deep. Rumors of hedge wizards predicting the return of winter any moon now.” 

She paused and met eyes with Jon. “It wouldn’t hurt to build our grain stores. I can’t say I know what may happen or when the season will change, but being prepared is never a bad thing,” she concluded.

“Aye, it’s smart to be ready,” Jon smiled to her. “You’re good at this, you know?” 

Sansa returned his smile, “I could use help from time to time. You’re better with the people, and they respect you Jon. Maybe your place is here. This is your home.” 

His head raised slightly as he considered the words. 

“Tormund would be miserable,” he sarcastically stated, bringing a jovial smile to Sansa. That red-haired man was a character. A fiercely loyal friend to Jon. 

“He is a good friend,” she continued. “I’ve set Maester Wolkan to draw up new maps, and sent men out to take survey of… well, of what lordlings and houses still stand. There have been a few quarrels over lands belonging to lost tenants. When we can know what lands belong to whom, and which of them still lives, we can better divvy up the lands and hopefully satisfy them.” 

“That’s a good idea. See? You’re good at this, Sansa.” 

She nodded to him and sighed. “It’s not really all I thought it would be. ‘Queen’ they call me, but some of the lordlings still scoff at a woman being in control.” 

“Some men are too proud, some set in their ways… some are just fools,” Jon offered. 

“Yes. It would still be good to have you here, Jon. If not in Winterfell, somewhere in the North. Maybe I would grant you Last Hearth. It’s been all but empty since…” she trailed off. The fate of young Ned Umber and the last of his people who hadn’t fled were not forgotten easily. 

After a pause, Jon responded, “I don’t know what the future holds for me. I want a home and safety for my family. That could be here.” 

“Well, consider, would you?” she asked,

“Aye, I will.”

Jon rose and gave a curt nod to Sansa and took his leave. Sansa reflected for a while, picturing Jon at her side in the Great Hall, handling the tasks of ruling of the North. He would garner great respect, and he was a natural leader. 

Sansa looked over the empty hall and decided to return to her solar to attend to her papers and letters, and reflect on business. She hadn’t thought Jon would ever return to Winterfell. Even without a Night’s Watch and an oath taken, he had lost so much and had tired of it all. She had long wondered if he bore her ill will after she had broken her word to him. He had been very silent, stunned. His world had fallen to pieces around him, she knew. And now she could see the depth of the love he bore for his silver-haired queen, though a simple woman she now seemed.

It was good to have Jon home, she thought often the last few days. This was still his home, no matter what he called himself  _ Snow… Targaryen…  _ he was a Stark. If only her lady mother had known of Jon’s true birth, he would have been treated as a true member of their family, and maybe Sansa wouldn’t have been so cruel to him either. He had forgiven her that when they sat eating that horrid stew and hard bread at Castle Black, while the Boltons still held Winterfell. The thought gave her shivers, and she tried not to think of the days before that… it would educe thoughts of Ramsey, and his cruel ways, of Theon and how he risked his life to save hers. 

The past was the past, she knew, and it could not be changed. She had made mistakes, had made judgments where she should have gained knowledge, made protests when she should have asked questions. Jon’s true name, had it been known when he was a babe, may have cost him his life. She had learned that this secret, that her lord father had kept and taken to his grave was indeed a dangerous thing.  _ Some secrets are too dangerous…  _

But of late she had thought of the words of Lord Baelish, _ “Sometimes, when I try to understand a person’s motives, I play a little game. I assume the worst. What’s the worst reason they could possibly have for saying what they say, or doing what they do? Then I ask myself, ‘how well does that reason explain what they say and what they do?’”  _ When Daenerys had arrived with Jon, the only intentions she could imagine were of demands for submission, and fealty. Surely this foreign queen would demand everyone bend their knees to serve her, surely Jon had been enamored by her, had been taken by her beauty and manipulated…  _ men do stupid things for women… _

But what if that were not the truth of it? She had not considered that Daenerys spoke true. “ _ I am here because I love your brother, and I trust him.”  _ She had loved Jon, that was undeniable now, and Jon’s words showed that he loved her, and that he trusted her and believed in her. An honorable man like Jon, who was so much like her honorable father, would have never bent the knee to one who was not deserving. 

With Jon by her side, Daenerys would surely have kept a place in her heart for the North, Jon would make sure of it. It mattered not where he was, the North was part of him and was his home. He would never let harm nor neglect befall his home. Were Jon and Daenerys to marry, he would have stayed in the south and the North would need a warden. Surely Jon would have left the North to Sansa, as he had in his stead when he traveled to Dragonstone.  _ Would it really have been any different than it is now?  _ She wondered as the afternoon wandered toward evenfall. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get in Sansa's head a bit. I'm not sure how good this chapter will be, and it's a bit short, but I wanted to explore that her mind could be changed, that she regretted her decisions and behavior. I think it's a bit weak, but this is, of course, going off of the weak story of the last season of the show. Sansa's behavior didn't make much sense, so again, it's something difficult to reconcile. 
> 
> Chapters may come a bit more slowly now. I'm reading more, and the creative juices ebb and flow. Next is a Daenerys chapter, and I've already got a bit of it written, but it is going to set up my plot idea for the direction this story will go.


	12. Daenerys V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for taking a while on this one. Creative juices have been a little lacking, but came back to me this weekend.

Daenerys V

  
  


The smell of salt air was strong on the warm breeze, the creaking deck of the cog sang a song accompanied by the wind billowing the sailcloth, a melody of neither cheer nor sorrow. Her hair blew in that humid wind as the faceless crew moved about their tasks. Standing on the forecastle, she could see no land, none ahead, none to the port, nor the starboard. The greenish-grey waters of this sea were circumjacent and unending. The warm sun was rising to the port side, the wind to her back. There was no worry in her mind, though she could not recall whence this ship sailed. 

Long moments passed, the sounds of the crew set to their tasks, the wind whipping the sails and the creaks of the deck and the masts lulling her mind to an absence of thought; a pleasant absence. She always loved sailing. She remembered the ships she and her brother Viserys had taken from port to port, staying ahead of the assassins sent from Westeros. But on this ship, now, the voices of the crew which she could hear, but not understand, began rising and turning frantic. Men without faces scrambled about to and fro, pulling ropes, tying them, moving bits of tack in tasks she did not comprehend. 

Turning to the aft, she could see the source of the crew’s concerns. Distant behind the cog was a cloud of mist, taller than the mainmast, large tentacles twice still as long flailed in the air. The crew yelled and scrambled, and a word she could discern made its way over the salt air: ‘Kraken.’ 

No fear welled up in her, nor even a small worry. She glanced around the deck of the ship and found the crew ever more frantic than before, but in her, there was only calm. 

She watched the beast close with the ship, its tentacles writhing in the air. It seemed only moments until the monster was upon the ship. Panicked voices cried out in words that didn’t register to her mind. The tentacles wrapped around the cog, and the body of the massive Kraken rose next to the hull, its giant eye, dark as the blackest ink, peered over the deck, but when it found her, she only glanced back curiously. 

The Kraken froze for a moment, locked to her gaze, then slipped beneath the waves. The cog stopped rocking and seemed to stand still. The crew fell silent and the wind stopped blowing. Slowly, a mist rose from the water around the ship, enveloping all sides. Still, with curiosity, she stood and watched. The mist rose up closer to her, the light fading from the sky above. The grayish water turned dark, then to brown, then to crimson and the sound of water rose from all around in a crescendo until it reached the dull roar of a waterfall, then a diminuendo to the swirl of leaves blowing in a strong wind. The dark water swirling around her broke into tiny pieces. Leaves of crimson now swirled around her, and the smell of salt air was taken over by the scents of earth and wood and the decay of leaves. 

The wood of the deck sank beneath the detritus of a forest, leaves of brown and red lay across its surface. The leaves blowing around her settled and the wind died to a pleasant breeze. Before her, a huge white tree with leaves of the same red, like blood. The face carved into the tree was frozen, it’s mouth open and eyes wide, as if trying to mouth a word. Red liquid streamed from the eyes and the mouth, running down the stark white trunk. 

“They only hear blood…” a woman’s voice echoed quietly in the forest, but she could not find who had spoken. She stood in front of the tree and listened, but only heard the rustling of leaves in the canopy above her. The face on the tree stayed frozen as if chiseled into stone. It felt to her like the tree was trying to tell her something, yet no words were heard. 

The rustling of the trees grew louder, and the crimson leaves started to fall from the branches around her. She stood again as she was surrounded by a swirl of crimson, yet fear still did not creep into her mind. Slowly the leaves fell and moved away from her feet. The cover of decaying leaves spread away from her, and a dark marble floor opened up. She watched as the blanket spread further from her until it withdrew past the solid pillars of the hall in which she now stood. Her eyes turned upward until it rested upon the throne on its raised dais at the far end of the hall. 

A momentary panic gripped her heart before she could glance around the hall. She found the pillars, the ceiling, the walls and windows were all intact. Everything was the way it should be she knew, but still, she hesitated, unsure of what this meant or why she was here. 

“It’s yours now. Take it.” The voice was Jon’s, softly echoing from behind her, yet she did not turn. 

“Not without you,” she replied. 

“I am right beside you,” she heard him reply… and there he was, lying beside her in the warm bed in their chambers in Winterfell. 

The fog of the dream faded, replaced with the welcome familiarity of the dark chambers she and Jon and their daughter had occupied. This dream was new and vivid, calm and welcome, unlike the other dream that had previously frequented her nights. That dream had come again twice since arriving at Winterfell, and both times Jon was there right next to her, arm wrapped around her, always ready to comfort her as she startled awake from those night terrors. She stirred from the dream, and moved her hand to Jon’s arm, feeling reassured that he was there. 

“Are you well?” she heard him whisper behind her. She pulled his arm tighter around her. 

“A dream… but not a terror. I am well,” she whispered as she slid closer to him. “I could be better if…” she whispered after a moment, but Jon had fallen asleep once more. She smiled to herself, closed her eyes and resolved to take as much sleep as the remains of the night would allow. 

*****

A day hence, Samwell and his family, along with their escorts and guards had arrived. After their conversation in the library, he had written his raven scroll to send to King’s Landing, as was his duty. He had let Jon and Daenerys read it, and a simple dispatch it was. Jon had arrived at Winterfell and was safe and well, and Daenerys Targaryen had arrived with him, along with the daughter she bore him, further that her demeanor was unambitious and docile. 

Both Jon and Daenerys were unsure that her presence should have been included, and reasoned that Bran would not be able to see with his… whatever it was he could do. Sam countered that Tyrion, who had acted as the Master of Whispers of sorts, would find this through more conventional means, so it was no use attempting to be delusive with the scroll. Knowledge of her life and her presence at Winterfell would not remain secret.

“Bran oft doesn’t tell everything he knows, displeasing Lord Tyrion, so he’s taken to his own methods of gathering information. ‘Varys’ little birds’, he’d call them. Perhaps with the city seeming smaller after… well… fewer people means fewer goings-on, I guess,” Samwell had imparted to them.

On the morning of the fourth day Daenerys, Jon and their daughter and her family broke their fast with Sam, Gilly and their two boys in the great hall. Daenerys hadn’t spoken with Gilly during her previous time at Winterfell, but Jon had described her as sweet, if a little simple, and quite blunt. Her impression of the woman wasn’t quite equal. Gilly spoke well, though she was a bit blunt with her observations. Sam had japed in their small conversations that Gilly was reading more books than he, and that she had done brilliantly teaching Little Sam to read. “Sometimes she seems to know more than I do, my Gilly. She reads everything she can!” he’d told them.

“Sansa has asked for my counsel, with Samwell. The North is in a bad way. The battle against the Night King cost several of the great lords their lives. Young Ned Umber before and Alys Karstark perished in the battle. Those great houses lost to the world,” Jon said, mournfully. “Plenty of land in the north is fit for farming, but the men to work it are few.” 

Jon sighed.  “We only had a few thousand men when we went south to take King’s Landing. So many more had perished in the War of the Five Kings before that. The North is in a bad way, I fear.” 

“You can help?” Daenerys asked. 

“Sansa values my counsel and thinks my presence is well received by the lordlings what come for help and to bring matters to court. Sansa was quite good at administration but could be a bit… difficult with people. “

“Yes… but some men don’t take well to following a woman,” Daenerys replied with a smirk. 

“Some men don’t know what’s good for them,” he quipped in response.

She gave him a gentle kiss and scooped up Lyanna. “We’ll be off to the library, then.” 

Gilly and her boys left the hall before her, and Jon took his place next to Sansa at the head table. Ghost silently plodded along behind Daenerys, brushing her hand from time to time, always wanting to be rubbed or stroked. 

The morning wore on peacefully, like the several before it. Gilly used paper and quill to write letters large, along with words to show little Jon and now Lyanna the shape of the letters, and words.  _ Apple. Dog. Cat. _ It seemed to work well, and both children were given turn on her lap to draw the letters themselves. Gilly had found books filled with children’s tales, crafted with small words that were easier for the children to speak and to remember. Little Jon and Lyanna were happy to hear the tales, and learn the new words as Gilly read to them, however young Sam, or Sammy as he liked to be called, was more restless and was rather like to be playing with a wooden sword in the yards. After a few protestations, Gilly was relieved to let her older son leave to seek out adventure as he could find it. 

Daenerys watched her daughter and Gilly’s younger son and how they interacted. They were becoming fast friends, she observed. The young boy reminded her a bit of Lyanna, yet he seemed more outgoing, more willing to speak first. Ghost had taken a liking to the boy as well, though the great wolf seemed to remain Lyanna’s constant shadow when they were apart. 

The door to the library creaked open, catching Daenerys’ attention. The young steward girl Larra entered and scanned the room, meeting eyes with her. She strode forward and gave a quick curtsy. 

“M’lady Daenerys? Jon asks that ye join him in the great hall. A visitor has arrived askin’ for ye.” 

A moment of fear gripped her heart and her mind started to race.  _ Who could be asking for me here?  _ _ The raven Sam had sent couldn’t have reached King’s Landing yet, could it? _ She almost froze before she could put her thoughts to voice. 

“Whom?” she managed to get out. 

“A woman, all in red. She says she’s come from the east to find ye’.” 

Kinvara? Had she come all this way? Daenerys had left Volantis in some haste and had not the time to give a proper farewell. The tightness in her chest subsided, and a concerned yet curious feeling replaced it. The journey from Volantis was a long one and would have taken some time. How did the priestess know where she was? 

She asked Gilly to watch over Lyanna for her, noting that Ghost looked up at her as she left, but then lowered his head back down as he lay next to the table, closest to Lyanna. The walk down from the library, across the yard and to the great hall seemed to pass in a blur, her mind still racing with possibilities.  _ What was the priestess doing here?  _

Kinvara stood in the great hall before the head table, Sansa seated with Jon standing next to her, Samwell Tarly sitting next to them. Jon hadn’t acknowledged Daenerys stepping to his side but gave her a smile when she stopped next to him and took his arm. 

“My queen,” the lady in red sang as she bowed. “I have traveled far to reach you.” 

“Her Grace, Sansa, is Queen here,” Jon interjected. The woman in red bowed and eyed her sitting in the center chair. 

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” the priestess said, as Sansa stared wordlessly, curiously. 

“She hasn’t said much since she arrived,” Jon said quietly to Daenerys. “She only asked to speak to you, and gave her name.” She could see a hint of suspicion in his eyes. 

“Kinvara,” Daenerys addressed her. “It is far from Volantis.”

“It is, Daenerys Stormborn. The Lord of Light willed that I seek you,” she said, her gaze shifting from Daenerys to Jon, “and you, Jon Snow.” 

The lady in red stepped closer to the table, closer to Jon, eyeing him. 

“Why is it you seek us, Lady Kinvara?” Jon responded.

“What I have to say is for you and Daenerys Stormborn alone,” the red lady looked around the room, to Samwell Tarly sitting at the side of the table, Sansa upon the high back carved chair directly in front of the great hearth, flanked by two Stark guards in their brown brigandine and steel helms, spears clutched in their hands, to Jon and Daenerys standing near the other end of the table. 

Jon looked to Sansa, who gave him a questioning look in return. “We’ll make use of the royal solar, if Her Grace permits,” Jon asked. Sansa nodded and rose. 

“The Lady Melisandre was a great aid to us in the battle against the Night King. You are most welcome here,” Sansa announced, drawing a low bow from the priestess, though Daenerys saw a hint of suspicion on the queen’s eye.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” 

Jon motioned to the doorway at the back of the hall and led Daenerys by the arm out to the hall, and made the walk to the royal solar. Not a word was spoken, though Jon and Daenerys shared a look.  _ He is curious and apprehensive. What news could Kinvara bring?  _

The entered the large, long solar, bright in the early afternoon daylight. The hearth at the end of the solar had a smoldering pile of embers and had been left neglected, as the warmer daytime did not warrant keeping the fires burning. Kinvara moved to the hearth and placed three logs from the pile onto the embers, stoking them back to life. Jon and Daenerys watched with curiosity, exchanging a look, waiting for the priestess to tell them why she had come so far. 

She rose and turned to them, “The Lord of Light has shown me. This,” she waved her hand in front of her, in their direction looking about the hall, “is not your fate. This is false.” 

“What do you mean?” Daenerys asked, noting Jon’s questioning look. 

“This is not your place. Yours is a throne in the south. The throne your family built. It is your destiny.”

“I thought it was… selfishly. But it is no more. It cannot be. The throne is gone, I… “ she trailed off. The memory again swelled in her mind, unbidden. Jon put his arm around her waist as if he sensed her despondency. 

“It was always your destiny,” Kinvara said, and then paused a moment. “But it was not yours alone.  _ Meri kīvio dārilaros ōz maghagon kostas _ .”

“ _ Only the prince who was promised can bring the dawn _ ,” Daenerys translated. “But the word in High Valyrian has no gender. The prince or princess…” 

“Or both,” Kinvara chimed. “Together.”

“The Night King was defeated, and the dawn has come,” Jon added. 

“Has it?” Kinvara asked. “This night has ended, but night comes again. When a long night ends, a long day begins, and the day always ends. The Great Other in the north will rise again. Only the chosen of R’hllor will end the next Long Night, and that prince,  _ or princess _ , will come from your line.” 

“You’ve told me this before, and I am here, with Jon. Our line will continue.” 

“I don’t put much faith in what the Lord of Light has to say. The lady Melisandre told Stannis Baratheon to burn his daughter to achieve victory. He only met with ruin and defeat!” Jon exclaimed. 

“Melisandre was wrong,” Kinvara bluntly stated. “She could not always interpret what the Lord showed her in the flames. She was not wise - not always. She was wise when she counseled you to call upon Jon Snow. The union of ice and fire. It was destined. Only together would the Long Night be ended, and only together will it be ended once more, and together from the throne your line must continue.”

“The throne? It’s gone. And there is a king in its place.” Daenerys responded. 

“The boy,” Kinvara lamented. “He was not meant to rise to that station. The power that dwells in him is ancient, and not of the Lord of Light. There are only two, R’hllor, and the Other, whose name shall not be spoken. What he intends, it is not known.” 

“He is my brother,” Jon protested.

“No. Your brother may be somewhere in that body, but what he is now is beyond that,” she paused. “Think. When you returned to Winterfell to prepare, how did the boy aid you? Did he impart knowledge to aid in the defeat of the Others? Did he tell of what strategy would best serve against the dead?” 

Jon reflected for a moment. Has he considered it? What  _ did _ Bran tell him? What counsel? The only things Daenerys knew of was telling Samwell Tarly of Jon’s birth, aided with his knowledge of the diary of a Septon who had married Rhaegar Targaryen to Lyanna Stark, and the other was that the Night King would come for him - that holding the memories of all men was what he sought to destroy. But what else? 

“No,” Jon said lamentatiously, “The only things revealed were that the Night King would come for  _ him  _ and that my parents were… “ 

“Yes, and if he had not revealed such to your friend… “ 

“I never would have known. I never would have turned away from…” Jon turned to look to Daenerys. “We would have… It would have been different.” 

“Yes. What was unknown should have remained unknown. The secret was not to be revealed, not yet. You are the King, and you are the Queen.” 

“But it is done,” Jon chided. “It cannot be undone, and we cannot stand against the crown now.” 

“Yes, it cannot be undone now, but it can be undone  _ then _ ,” the priestess replied.

Jon looked confused. “What do you mean  _ then _ ?” 

“Come, Jon Snow. Look into the flame,” she motioned him to the hearth, the logs she had placed on the embers had taken flame. “The Lord of Light will show you.” 

Jon hesitated for a moment, considering the red woman before him. Daenerys nodded, and he stepped to the hearth. Kinvara lowered herself to kneel before the flame, and Jon followed her lead. 

“Look into the flames. Look  _ through _ the flames. The Lord will show you.” 

Jon stared for long moments, blinking as the light and smoke made his eyes water. “I see naught but fire…” 

“Keep looking,” she sang to him, bringing her hand to his shoulder. The fire seemed to grow, and shift more and more red. 

“What is…?” Jon blurted. “I see… I see leaves. Red leaves. White branches, a weirwood. The face on the tree… I’ve not seen this face... Where?” 

“Whence you were born, Jon Snow,” Kinvara answered as Daenerys watched him, transfixed by the flames, which seemed to slow and almost freeze before him.  _ Could I see what he sees?  _

“Dorne?” he queried, “But there are no weirwood trees in Dorne… and most south of the Neck, save for the Isle of Faces, were cut down.” The fires settled back to normal light amber, and Jon rose to his feet. 

“Toward the summer’s sunrise, from the place your father was born, at the mouth of a river lies a castle surrounded by forest. Therein a white tree with the face of a man still grows. The Lord of Light has shown me this, in the flames, and in my dreams. The trees hold all the memories of Westeros, and beyond. Within this tree, the locus of your birth is bound. Remove it, and the boy will not be able to see it… for some time.” 

“What does this mean?” Daenerys asked. 

Jon looked to Daenerys, then turned to Kinvara, who rose next to him. “Speak plainly, I’m not much for riddles.” 

“If you can find this tree, you can remove the memory, at least for a time. From the moment the memory was made, it will be unseeable,” the priestess explained. 

“Unseeable? It would mean that Bran wouldn’t be able to see the truth of my birth?” 

“Yes, it would mean this.” 

“How would this thing be done?” Jon asked plainly. 

“Blood. Those they call the Children would sacrifice blood to the trees to commune with their _ gods _ , and they were granted the gift of sight; sight of memory, and sight through the trees. Blood will show you. They only hear blood.” 

_ They only hear blood…  _ the words she heard in her dream...

“Blood? Whose blood? I’ll not be sacrificing anyone to a tree.” Jon stated tersely. 

“There is power in king’s blood.  _ Your  _ blood, Jon Snow, and in your blood, Daenerys Stormborn. No death is needed to accomplish this task. A few drops of your blood will be sufficient. Let the tree taste your blood. Think of your birth. The tree will show you the memory, then you can take it in hand. A leaf, or a branch.” 

“That’s it? Find the weirwood tree, bleed on it, then find this leaf or branch and remove it?” 

“No, Jon Snow. Blood is power, but with this blood, there must be fire. The memory, the blood, the fire. The raven with three eyes must see this fire. Memory, blood, and fire.”

“If we do this thing? What happens?” he asked the priestess after a pause.

“The Lord of Light has shown me naught but two crowns, crowns of wolf and dragon, upon a throne of swords.” 

“And if we do not do this thing?” 

“Darkness will return. Not in your lifetime, but it will return, and the night that ensues will not end… only your line will ensure its defeat, but your line will not survive.” 

“And if we do… then two crowns? I never wanted to be King in the North,” he trailed off meekly.

“Yes, you were crowned King and accepted that crown for the sake of your people. For  _ all  _ of the living. It was your destiny, as is this, Jon Snow. The Lord of Light wills it.” 

“We have a lot to consider, Kinvara,” Daenerys chimed in, putting her hand to Jon’s arm.

“Yes you do, my queen. Consider why you were brought back. A great gift has been given - to both of you. Remember that.” 

“I’ll have a room found for you, Lady Kinvara. Daenerys and I must speak alone.” 

“Then I shall see you this evenfall, when we sup,” Kinvara said pleasingly, with a bow. She then turned to the fire as Jon lead Daenerys to the door at the far end of the solar, the sound of the priestess muttering in an unknown tongue 

They returned to their chambers, both quiet, somber and puzzled over what they had been told by the priestess. 

“What would happen, Jon? What do you think?” she asked, as she sat on the edge of the bed, her long pale hair in waves spilling over her shoulders. Jon had paced from one side of their chambers to the other and back several times, lost in thought. 

“I don’t know. What would have happened if Bran had never been able to see my true birth? Sam wouldn’t have known.  _ I _ wouldn’t have known…” he trailed off. 

“And if you had never known, I would not, either.” Her mind turned back to the night that she learned the truth.  _ I was not the rightful heir. My ‘destiny’ wasn’t what I thought it was, but I couldn’t accept it… _ The guilt washed over her, the memory of Jon’s face as she reacted to his revelation in the crypts of Winterfell. It was the moment, the beginning of what would be her end. 

“Would that I had not acted so selfishly. It took the horrors that I caused to wake me to the truth - that we belonged together.” Jon looked to her, a sadness in his eyes. He could see that she was pained by the memory. 

“But if the path were changed… Thousands may not have died…” she lamented.

“It sounds like folly. Blood and memories? Changing what has already come to pass?” 

“It does… but we have both seen what this Lord of Light can do… we’re both here, aren’t we?”

“Aye, that we are.” He stepped to her at the foot of the bed and knelt, taking her hands in his. “Are we to trust this priestess? The other, Melisandre made terrible mistakes… Stannis Baratheon’s daughter…” 

“She’s not asking us to harm anyone. The task seems simple enough, does it not?” 

“Aye, it sounds harmless enough. But we’ll need to find the weirwood tree, get to it.” He paused a moment, “Then get to King’s Landing and gain audience with Bran.” 

“You should be able to get into the Red Keep. He’s still your brother.” 

“He’s... something… It would be easier if Sam were there, he could get us in.” 

“I don’t know if I should… if that’s a place I should even be seen.” 

“We do this together, or not at all,” Jon said, meeting her eyes with a resigned smile. “We’ll figure it out.”

That evening, they supped in the great hall. Sansa regarded the pair with curiosity but didn’t question what had been said with the red priestess. Kinvara was seated at one of the side tables during the meal, yet didn’t seem to be possessed of any appetite. Tormund took a place next to her, much to Jon’s amusement. Kinvara was a strikingly beautiful woman, with long brown hair and mysterious green eyes. She seemed to indulge Tormund’s banter, yet deflected his advances with ease. 

Gilly suggested that evening that the children quarter together, that she preferred to have the boys in a separate room. Sammy was a good steward to his younger brother, though sometimes grudgingly. With Ghost to help in that regard, there was no fear for Lyanna’s safety. Jon moved her small bed to the room just a few doors down the hall of the great keep. 

She found sleep peacefully again, laying in Jon’s arms, thankful for his warmth as the northern night grew cool and the fire in the hearth died. The dream came again this night, though as she stood before the white tree, and the voice said “they only hear blood”, she turned to see Kinvara standing beside her. She continued, “Blood, memory and fire. Jon’s blood, and your blood. Let the boy see it. Let the boy see it…” The scene shifted again as it had, to the great hall in the Red Keep, the Iron Throne, and Jon beside her. 

Daenerys stirred again from the dream, finding the room dark and the night deep. Many hours remained until the dawn. Jon stirred and again asked, “Is all well, my love?” he whispered. 

“It is,” she whispered back. “The same dream from the other night, but slightly different. All is well… but could be better…” 

“Oh?” he replied. She turned toward him, running her hand up along his chest, to his neck and to his face, bringing her lips to his. She kissed him playfully, then deeply, her hand returning to his chest. She could feel his heartbeat quicken. She ran her hand down to his manhood, finding it already firm. His hand found her thigh and pulled her atop him. 

As Lyanna was not sleeping in their chambers, she knew there was no need for quiet. She lowered herself onto Jon, feeling him enter her, and she let out a gasp. This night, she was not quiet, nor was Jon. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So with this chapter, I think you can see where this story may end up going. It might be a bit... cheesy... but it's what I've decided to do. 
> 
> Not everyone will like it, and that's fine. There are plenty of other stories out there to read. I do hope this one remains enjoyable, though.


	13. Jon VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love it when a plan comes together...

Jon VI

His eyes opened, bleary and unclear, he observed the light. Thin ribbons of sunlight crossed their room, the scent of wood smoke from the hearth almost overpowered the scent of lavender and rose from Daenerys’ hair which lay strewn across his chest. Her head lay upon his chest and her arm across him, rising and falling slowly with her breath and his own. _Three times._ She had woken him three times this night, and they had both slept well past sunrise.

He moved his foot beneath the blankets and took notice of the dust motes stirring into the air amidst a shaft of warm morning sunlight. He moved his foot again and noted how the motes shifted and swirled. _Things moved by a force unseen… such a small action and other things move without seeming touched…_

Daenerys seems to have found hope in Kinvara’s revelation, he thought to himself. _It makes sense… redemption would lift a great burden from her..._ yet Jon had not quite thought through what he had heard, what he had seen. He couldn’t deny the Lord of Light, whatever his will might be, had shown both of them an undeniable power. But to change something that had already come to pass? If there were a chance it could change things, if it could remove the burden and guilt from his love, there was no doubt he would have to do this thing. 

But still, like a thorn in his mind, the question lingered… _what happens if we do this thing?_

His mind was still turning when Daenerys stirred, moving her leg up along his, her hand along his chest.

“We slept a little late, didn’t we?” she asked, before yawning.

“We didn’t sleep that much, truth be told,” Jon replied. 

“Could we just stay here, like this forever?” she wondered aloud.

“You’d hear no complaints from me… but we have a child to attend to.”

After a long moment, she kissed his chest and rolled out of bed, stepping to the small table. She gave a sly look back to Jon as he leaned upon his elbow, admiring her form. Daenerys donned her small clothes and a simple gown and sat before the looking glass and began to brush her long silver hair. Jon rose from the bed and pulled on his breeches then pulled his tunic over his head, then his leather jerkin.

“We’ll break our fast, then speak with Sam. He can bring sense to the riddle, help us prepare for this task.”

“I’m glad he’s here, then,” she replied, spinning hair into a braid with deft fingers. 

Jon nodded and to her. “I’ll check on the children and the Lady Kinvara. I’ll see you at the table?” She nodded and he kissed her head, then left their chambers. Walking down the hall, he passed the room Sam and Gilly shared, then came to the one the children were sharing. The beds were empty and unmade as of yet. _Sam and Gilly probably took them to break their fast without us._

Continuing down the hall, down the stairs to the next level, he approached the door to the chambers that had been prepared for the red priestess. His soft knock was not answered; no sound stirred from within. Slowly opening the door and peering in, he found that the chamber was empty. The bed had not been disturbed, save for a spot where someone had been sat. A basin of water, untouched, sat upon a table with a towel folded neatly beside it. Jon looked across the room and was about to retreat when an object on the small table against the wall caught his eye.

He approached the table to inspect the object. A dagger. _His dagger_. It was the dagger he had carried for years, it had been with him beyond the wall, to Hardhome, through the Battle of the Bastards, back beyond the wall again. It was the dagger he had thrust into Daenerys’ heart. There was no trace of her blood on its slender blade of bright steel, its curved quillions or its plain hilt. Jon stared at it for long moments. The memory rushed back to him, Daenerys’ hopeful eyes, her willing kiss… then her lifeblood running from the wound, onto his hand… He then reached his hand slowly toward it, but he could not bring himself to touch it. Withdrawing his hand, he stared at it for long moments. He left the room, the dagger still upon the table. 

Heading toward the great hall, Jon happened upon Larra, walking toward him with folded sheets under an arm and a pitcher held by the other.

“Have you seen the Lady Kinvara this morrow?” he inquired

“Nay, I’ve nay seen her since she supped with ye last eve.” 

Jon considered for a moment, then nodded and continued to the hall. 

In the great hall, he found Sansa standing next to her carved chair at the head table, Maester Wolkan standing near in conversation with the queen. The scullions had already cleared the tables of the morning meal’s remnants. Daenerys had not yet entered the hall. 

“Good morrow, Your Grace,” Jon greeted Sansa with a nod of his head, followed by another to Maester Wolkan. “I take it everyone has already broken their fast? What of the Lady Kinvara?” 

“She was not present,” Sansa replied. 

“She was not in chambers, either.” 

“The lady did not seem to eat much last eve,” Wolkan added. “Strange, that one. Not unlike that other red lady what was here previously. They say she walked out the gate and vanished. Mayhaps this one did as well?” 

_Melisandre… Davos did tell of this. She walked out into the morning light and vanished into the wind like dust…_ Jon recalled. While he trusted Davos’s word, he never knew what to make of that, but indeed, the Lady Melisandre was never said to have been seen by another again.

Jon called for one of the scullions and requested that eggs, bacon, and fruits be prepared enough for two. No more than a moment later, Daenerys entered. Morning greetings were shared before Sansa and Wolkan retired from the hall to go about various tasks before any petitioners were to be heard. 

“I think Kinvara has gone,” Jon started. “She wasn’t in her chambers when I checked, and the bed hadn’t been slept in. She was not present here to break her fast, either.” 

Daenerys responded with a bit of puzzlement. “I’m not sure we should make much of this, she has always been mysterious, vanishing for times.” 

“Well, perchance she’s said what she needed to say to us and has left us?” he asked. “We’ll have our meal and find Sam. We’ll start our plan with his counsel.” 

Daenerys nodded, and they broke their fast with small talk and many shared smiles, then sought Sam in the library. 

Sam, Gilly, Little Jon, and Lyanna were in attendance. Ghost lay sprawled at one end of the table closest to Lyanna. _He is always close to her, protective of the cub._ Sam was at a table to himself, several scrolls laid out and a large tome opened in front of him. Ghost raised his head and met eyes with Jon, his tail lazily wagging. 

Daenerys stepped around the end of the table as Jon knelt close to the massive wolf. “You need to hunt, Ghost. You’re looking thin these days.” Ghost’s ears perked at the words. Jon scratched behind his ears, his long tail slapping against a chair with a loud ‘thunk’. “Go, go to the wood and hunt. You need some meat on your bones!” 

Ghost rose to his paws, his back higher than the table he stood next to and turned to look toward Lyanna. “She’ll be fine, my friend. I’ll be here with her. Go. Hunt!” Jon lightly slapped the wolf’s haunches as he loped toward the open door of the library and vanished silently into the hall. 

“Sam, we must speak.” 

Gilly was reading to the children, sounding words slowly and guiding their attention across the text. Daenerys looked on with approval. 

“What is it, Jon? Is something amiss?” Sam questioned, seeing Jon’s brow furrowed. Sam rose from the table and stepped closer to him. 

“The red woman, Kinvara. She told us…” Jon moved his head in the direction of the windows to the side of the library. Jon leaned on the table, pondering how to tell Sam what they had been told, what he had seen in the flames. 

“She told us this isn’t where we are supposed to be. This isn’t how things were supposed to be.” 

“What do you mean? All of us? Was I not supposed to visit?” 

“No, Sam,” Jon smiled to him. “I’m glad you’ve come. It has done me well to see you again. And Gilly, and the boys. But for Daenerys and I. She told us this wasn’t where we are to be. This god of hers, the Lord of Light... well… “ Jon trailed off for a moment, considering what he had seen, what she had shown him in the flames. “Sam, she told us that what had been hidden should have remained hidden. Before the battle with the Night King, what did Bran reveal to us? To you?” 

“Well, I seem to recall… well… he told me he had seen your birth, in Dorne. He thought you should be Jon Sand, not Snow because that’s what they call... “

“But what else?” Jon interrupted. “He revealed naught of the Night King. Nothing that helped us prevail that night. All he told any of us was about my birth. And what had that wrought upon us? Naught but betrayal…” Jon looked to Daenerys. “It tore us apart. Had I never known… had you never known… had Bran not seen the memory of my birth…” 

“But he did,” Sam sighed, and tilted his head questioningly. “He saw it and told me, and I told you.” Sam shrugged. “There’s naught to be done about it now.” 

“But there _is._ ” 

Sam shook his head doubtfully. “How? What’s done is done. How can that be changed?” 

“The red woman Kinvara told us. _Showed me._ ” 

“Showed you? What do you mean, Jon?” 

“The flames. She can see things in the flames. She showed me. In the fire in the hearth, I _saw_ it, Sam. A weirwood tree, blood, the leaves, and branches all intertwined with all of the world’s memories. _That_ memory. If we can find this tree, I can find the memory in that tree… and remove it. Burning it in Bran’s sight would remove it from his memory as well… if I understand what I saw and what she told us.” 

Sam blinked in confusion and considered for a moment. “So you saw this in the flames? And you believe this?

“You didn’t see it, Sam. I lay dead on a table for three days. Ser Alliser, Olly, and other of our brothers laid me low, murdered me and left me in the snow. The red lady Melisandre brought me back. Her Lord of Light,” Jon sighed and took a breath. “And Daenerys. Sam, I drove my dagger into her heart and held her as she died. And another red lady brought her back. There’s something to this. Why would we both be here when we should both be gone by rights? This has to mean something. There has to be some design.” 

“Do.. do you take this on faith then? Do you trust in this Lord of Light?” Sam questioned. 

“I don’t know, but I do know it has to mean something. I believe that if we do this, it will change things. Sam, tens of thousands of people died in King’s Landing…” Daenerys looked up at this, as Jon and Sam were still within earshot. “She has night terrors about it. She wakes up trembling,” Jon leaned closer to Sam. “It’s a terrible burden, Sam. I have to help her. I have to help her right this…” 

“But, how will it change things? What will happen?” Sam asked. 

“That, she couldn’t see. Nor could I in the flames. It only showed me how, but not after. I don’t know, Sam.” 

“You really believe this will do something? It will change what happened.”

Jon nodded and replied, “I do, Sam. I have to. I need your help.” 

Jon relayed what he had seen in the flames, and what Kinvara had told him. _“Toward the summer’s sunrise, from the place your father was born, at the mouth of a river lies a castle surrounded by forest. Therein a white tree with the face of a man still grows.”_

“Where my father was born. He would be born here, in Winterfell.” 

“No, Jon, your _real_ father. Rhaegar Targaryen! He wasn’t born here, or on Dragonstone or in King’s Landing. He was born at Summerhall, the night of the tragedy there. It’s said King Aegon The Unlikely tried to hatch dragons using wildfire. Archmaester Gyldayn wrote of it in his History of House Targaryen, though some of his original text was obscured by messy ink stains. It was said Rhaegar would travel to Summerhall and liked to be alone among the ruin. He would take his harp and write songs. It seems a bit romantic, such tragedy, but such a fondness…” 

“Sam. We need to find this weirwood. _Toward the summer’s sunrise, from the place your father was born…_ what does this mean?

“Well, the sunrise would be east, of course… we’ll need a map. I believe there’s one in here somewhere!” Sam shuffled over to the shelves of books and scrolls and sheaves of parchment. 

“Here, I think this will…” Sam unrolled a large, thick scroll across the table he had his other scrolls and tomes upon, brushing them aside. “This should… no, this map is a bit too broad. There should be a better map of the Crownlands and the Stormlands... It was here before…” he went back to the shelves and rummaged around. 

“Here it is!” Sam triumphed, as a pile of scrolls fell to the floor. He regarded them and shrugged, taking another large scroll to the table. “The Crownlands and Stormlands. Here’s Summerhall, “ Sam pointed to a location among what looked to be mountains. “Toward the east… a ‘castle surrounded by forest’ she said?” 

“Aye, at the mouth of a river,” Jon replied. 

Sam traced his finger east to a river, then south along the dry blue ink, to another mark on the map. “Stonehelm. This must be it. Look. It’s surrounded by forest, and it’s at the mouth of the river.” 

Jon appraised the map, regarding the surroundings and location. “This puts it… oh, how far would this be from King’s Landing?” 

Sam leaned back and looked across the map, then shuffled it with the other map he had found. He traced his finger along a line across the north end of the map, then brought his finger down to the south, near Dorne. 

“I’d say… a hundred leagues?” he stated, with his brows furrowed in uncertainty. “It’s a bit hard to tell precisely with these maps… the scale is all… they’re never the same, you see. So many of the maps were made hundreds of years ago… and some maesters would draw them up from memory, so they’re… well… they’re just not that good…” 

“It’s alright, Sam. I understand. So this place,” Jon shuffled the maps back and looked over the detail. “There are mountains between Summerhall and Stonehelm. Do we know if there are passes, roads that may be serviceable?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. Of all the wars and happenings of the recent decades, I don’t think much of any import has happened… I can’t recall of anyone traveling to or from this area. I can see if there are any books that might…” he trailed off.

“There’s always the sea,” Jon realized aloud. 

“Well, yes, I guess. I hate sailing, though. Too much tossing and turning. I can’t keep my supper down!” 

“No worries there, my friend. You’ll not be going with us.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “No? You wouldn’t need your friend Sam with you?” 

Jon smiled and clasped Sam’s shoulder. “No, Sam, I’d need you to return to King’s Landing. We’ll need to gain an audience with Bran, and you can get us into the city, into the Red Keep” 

Daenerys turned her chair around to face toward them and listened. 

“That might be difficult,” Sam said with worry in his eyes. Daenerys and Jon both met this with a questioning look. “Well,” Sam looked to Daenerys. “You’ll be recognized. I’m not sure how the folks there are like to be welcoming to Daenerys Targaryen.” 

Daenerys sighed, “He’s right. I don’t think I could walk right into King’s Landing. I’m not sure I even should…” 

“Color your hair.” Gilly chimed in flatly.

“What?” Sam puzzled. Daenerys looked to Gilly and considered. 

“Color your hair. You’d look different with dark hair. People might not even look twice. I mean, you’d still be beautiful, of course, but you wouldn’t stand out.” 

“That’s an idea,” Jon agreed. 

“Yes, yes… I’ve seen how to make such a concoction noted in recordings of maesters who dabbled in herbalism. I’ll have to see if I can find anything here. Maybe Maester Wolkan has such in his own library if I can’t find anything here.” 

“That would be helpful, Sam,” Daenerys replied. Lyanna climbed into her lap. “Would you like to see mommy with different colored hair?” she asked the child, who shrugged her shoulders in reply. This brought a smile to all around. 

“When? When would we do this?” Sam inquired. 

Jon thought on it a moment. “When were you to return to King’s Landing?” 

“Most of our business with the Queen is near a conclusion. I’d suppose a sennight and we’ll be ready to leave.” 

“Good. Make no haste, and speak naught of this. You’ll all head back to King’s Landing. It should take, what, a moon’s turn?” this drew a nod from Sam, Gilly listening intently as well. “Daenerys and I will travel to White Harbor to find a ship to ferry us south. It took, what, a fortnight from Dragonstone?” 

“Twelve nights…” Daenerys replied. _Twelve nights… most spent in the warmth of her bed…_ Jon reminisced for a moment. 

"Stonehelm is a might further, perhaps twice the distance. So near a moon’s turn. The journey to White Harbor should take a fortnight. If we leave after you, we’ll get there a fortnight after you return to King’s Landing, give or take a few days. From there, by ship, it will be another fortnight. By land…” Jon turned to the map again and studied a moment. “Either by Summerhall or Storm’s End… a fortnight by horse,” he concluded. 

“We have friends at Storm’s End,” Daenerys said. _Gendry Baratheon…_

“It may be best we avoid eyes that know us,” Jon replied, to which she nodded. 

“You don’t think Bran would…” Sam questioned. “Would he try to stop you?” 

“I don’t know, Sam, but I think it best we stay as unknown as we can wherever we go.” 

“Probably best,” Sam agreed. 

“I’ll need to speak with Sansa. We’ll need coin and provisions. Of course, Sam, you and your party will be provisioned for the journey, per custom. Daenerys and I will need passage from White Harbor and coin for horses or passage to King’s Landing when we find what we need at Stonehelm.” 

“Do you think she’ll be amenable?” Daenerys asked. 

“Hmm,” Jon hummed. “I think I know how to gain her support.” 

Daenerys withdrew the crimson silk from her pocket and handed it and its content to Jon. 

* * *

The great hall was sparsely populated - few smallfolk awaiting petition, seated in plain chairs where the trestle tables had been, the latter pushed back along the walls. A shepherd’s squabble with another over the grazing herds intermingling. Jon’s mind wandered, considering what he would tell Sansa about his impending departure. His sister, no, his _cousin_ had warmed to Daenerys and had come to adore little Lyanna. She had commented about how the child must look like her aunt Lyanna, Jon’s mother. The Stark in her was clear, though not as much as in her father. She had her mother’s nose and smile, but her eyes and hair were Jon’s. _I hope she knows the love of a child of her own blood someday_ he would think. 

He thought on that, losing what was being said between Sansa and the shepherd, when the doors to the hall opened and Daenerys hurriedly stepped through, making her way briskly toward. Quarrelsome yelling from several men could be heard beyond the door, growing closer, Tormund’s bellowing baritone loudest among them. The guards behind Jon and Sansa stepped forward as Jon sprang from his chair to meet Daenerys, holding their daughter. 

She had a worried face and held Lyanna to her shoulder. The girl was crying.

“What is this?” Jon asked, no sooner than Tormund burst in pushing a man before him, the man’s arm bent behind him locked in Tormund’s grasp. Jon moved to usher Daenerys and their daughter behind him as Tormund cursed the man. Sansa rose from her chair, her guards now flanking her, grasping their spears in their hands at the ready, guards from without shuffling in behind Tormund, hands on the hilts of their longswords.

“You get in there, you greasy little cunt!” the large red-haired man bellowed as he shoved his captive forward. The man was hunched over with his long ruddy brown hair ragged. His leather brigandine muddy and his scabbard empty. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Sansa asked loudly. “Tormund?” 

“This one… this cunt thought it fair to harass the lady Daenerys right to her face! Yelled at her in anger, scared the child something fierce.” He kicked the back of the man’s knee to drive him to the ground. “Then he thought it wise to draw steel against me when I made to remind him of his manners!” 

Jon felt his wroth rise and his hand instinctively went to his belt, however, it found nothing as he had taken to leaving Longclaw in his chambers. He only carried a knife at his belt. 

“What is your name,” Sansa demanded, her guards moving around the ends of the table toward the prostrate man and the tall wildling holding him so. 

“Tavin, if it please Your Grace,” the man spoke, his voice quiet and quivering. 

“Is this true? Why would you do such a thing?” she demanded. 

The man looked up, his bloodied nose running into his mottled dark beard. “Me brother Callan. We fought for Winterfell against the dead things… He was hurt. We weren’t given no time to heal afore marching south. _She_ were responsible for that. He died on the march!”

“Callan. He was your elder brother?” Jon asked. 

“Aye, m’lord. He took care ‘o me. Our father had gone off ‘n died fightin’ for your own brother, King Robb. He died in the Riverlands. Me brother was all I had,” the man trailed off. 

Daenerys had moved to stand next to Jon, Lyanna reaching for him. He took her into his arms and held her, whispering to her that everything was alright. Jon considered the man for a moment. “I remember this man. I remember all of the men who marched south and died on the way.” 

“Aye, men died on that march. Weren’t given no time to heal…” the man trailed off, then raised his eyes to Daenerys. “If it weren’t for her…” he growled in a low voice. 

“ _Silence!_ ” Sansa commanded. “You’ve accosted a guest of mine own in Winterfell, and drew steel on another. You’ve violated Guest Rights, a grave trespass in the eyes of gods and men. I understand your anger. Winterfell is indebted to the men and women who fought and died, but this cannot pass without redress. To your feet.” 

Tormund grudgingly lifted the man to his feet, giving a threatening snarl as Tavin looked at him. 

“A moon’s turn in a cell. Bread and water.” The queen turned to her guard and motioned to the man. “Take him to the cells.” She looked at Jon, who met her and nodded. “Neither harm nor insult shall be visited upon guests in Winterfell. Any trespass of this sort will be henceforth met with harsh punishment. Let it be known among all the men of the garrison, and all within and without Winterfell,” Sansa spoke with authority, directed to the men and guards who had shuffled in behind the commotion. 

“Thank you, Tormund,” Jon called to his friend, who grunted and nodded in return. 

“The wolf had kept the men around in fear. I’ve heard them speak. Many have no love for your lady here, my friend,” Tormund lamented. 

“This is enough excitement for today,” Sansa intoned. “I will retire to my solar.”

“Your Grace,” Jon asked, “I’ll need a word with you. I’ll find you in your solar shortly.” Sansa nodded to him and left the hall by the rear door. 

“That man was not wrong,” Daenerys said quietly, turning toward him as the guards ushered the prisoner out of the great hall. The few petitioners left in the hall spoke quietly to one another as they moved to leave. After Sansa’s guards and the few other stragglers at the other end of the hall exited. Tormund, Jon, Daenerys, and the child were alone. 

“Why was that man mad at mama?” Lyanna asked. 

Jon considered, _how can I explain this to a child. She’s not like to understand._ “We… we made mistakes. People got hurt.” 

Daenerys watched her leave and turned back to him. “He was not wrong… in my impatience, I made rash decisions. It cost men their lives. We have to right this. Else I’m not sure we’ll be safe here after all,” she lamented. Jon nodded in agreement. 

“Tormund, my friend. Will you watch over Daenerys and Lyanna for me? I need to speak with the queen.” 

“Of course!” Tormund stepped closer and held his hands out to Lyanna, who couldn’t help but giggle at the playful smile the fire-haired man gave her. “Come, child, I’ll tell you the story of the giant who suckled…” 

“No, not that story, my friend!” Jon interjected. “I don’t right think that story is fit for the child. Surely you have other stories…” 

“Stories aplenty!” Tormund exclaimed. Lyanna hugged herself to his neck and giggled as his beard tickled her face. 

“I’ll find you before evenfall,” Jon said, pulling Daenerys close, giving her a gentle kiss. 

He then went to find Sansa in her solar. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, has it been so long since I got a chapter up? I'm almost done reading the existing books of A Song of Ice and Fire. If you haven't read them, I would recommend it. There's far more detail and intricacy in the story, and it seems to be getting more complex. Maybe it's why George is taking so long with the last two? I have heard a theory I like - that he's holding back TWoW while getting into ADoS, so that he can make changes to keep everything consistent. I can understand why that type of thing would be good. Once you've put a book out there, it's canonical. You can't change it, and if you set something up improperly, you have to deal with it. 
> 
> Anyway, we're moving forward with my take on this story. I've been trying to get through this chapter for a bit. A few elements just came to me last weekend, so I'm glad I took my time with it. I've actually already started on the next chapter, although I've only got a few paragraphs. The ideas ebb and flow, and I've got what I think will be a few decent ones for upcoming chapters. I'm hoping I'll be able to get them out a bit more regularly, but I won't sacrifice quality for quantity! 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you're enjoying the story as I'm creating it. It's been fun. 
> 
> (and it's fun to get reports from Grammarly (it's a grammar/spelling plugin) saying my vocabulary is bigger than 98-99% of Grammarly users. I always chuckle at that. Although when I write sentences that intentionally have poor grammar, it kinda sucks that they're counted against me!)


	14. Daenerys VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few events at Winterfell before the journey begins...

The latch clattered a moment before the door opened, but a glance to Ghost unfazed as he lay sprawled across the floor at her feet indicated it was just Jon on the other side. The wolf seemed to know before she could perceive even a footfall beyond the portal. Jon had been the evening in Sansa’s solar, long enough that he must have supped there with her.

“And that is how the stars came to be scattered across the sky,” she completed the tale she had recounted to her daughter, a tale she learned from the Dothraki during her time under the endless sky above the Great Grass Sea of Essos. “Now it is time for bed, my love,” Daenerys said sweetly to the child.

“I’ll put our lass to bed, and we’ll speak.” Jon scooped Lyanna up into his arms, kissing her cheek as the girl giggled playfully. Daenerys couldn’t help but smile. She stood and kissed their daughter’s other cheek. When Jon’s dark eyes met hers, she felt peace, she felt happiness. She felt  _ home _ . 

Ghost rose to his paws and silently plodded after Jon as he left their chambers. That made Daenerys feel at ease - the wolf was rarely away from the child.  _ The cub in Jon’s pack _ she thought. The wolves, symbols of House Stark, and the White Wolf Jon had been called. It made sense that Ghost was so protective of his child. 

Daenerys sat and resumed brushing her long hair out in front of the polished glass above the table before her. It seemed a long while before the door latch clattered again and Jon returned. 

“Sam was putting the boys to bed as well. Seems he always wants to banter on about something he’s read, or some trivial matter he is fretting over…” Jon sighed and walked to the bed, sat and began to remove his boots. 

“And my conversation with Sansa,” he continued, then paused. Jon had parted company with his family to accompany Sansa to her solar before they had supped. He had been there for several hours. She hoped that was a positive sign. 

“She was amenable?” Daenerys asked.

“I think she is. We’ll have coin and provisions. I knew what to tell her.” 

“And what was that?” she turned on her stool to face toward Jon, still absent-mindedly brushing her long silver locks. 

“Sansa has always had a bit of a high opinion of herself, though she - and we all - have faced many a hardship in our lives. I think where she is now is where she belongs. I told her that whatever happens, the North should be independent and that she should be where she is now. She seemed to like that, of course,” he concluded with a hrmph. 

“Maybe that would have been better; if I had supported the independence of the North, Sansa would have been… well…” 

“Aye, possibly,” Jon understood where she was going. “She was not pleased that I had bent the knee - Most of the Northern lords weren’t. They couldn’t understand what I had seen in you.  _ She _ couldn’t have. I should have made her understand.” 

Daenerys rose and crossed the room to stand before Jon. “We’ll change all of that. We’ll right the things that went wrong. This, I believe.” She put her hands to Jon’s face, pulled him close to her chest, feeling his arms wrap around her waist.  _ We’ll right everything.  _

Jon pulled her closer, on top of him as he fell back onto the bed. She found his lips and kissed him slowly. A few moments later they were wrapped up in each other under the blankets and furs. 

* * *

An enveloping heat slowly crept over her, until the warmth in her chest and in her mind had roused her from her slumber. A feeling familiar to her.  _ Drogon.  _ She rose from the bed, leaving her lover in his slumber and pulled a simple gown over herself and wrapped her cloak about her shoulders and quietly exited their chambers. The silent hall barely betrayed her passing, her light footsteps producing nary a whisp. She climbed the stairs to the top of the rectangular eastern tower and quietly opened the heavy iron-banded oak door as gingerly as she could, resting it lightly against the latch.  _ I shan’t be long.  _

The cool, crisp night air greeted her as she walked out onto the battlements, bringing a chill with it. She pulled her cloak around her tighter and raised her eyes to the sky. Above Winterfell, the sky was dark, dotted with a thousand thousand stars, pinholes in the black blanket of night, the waning moon lowering toward the western horizon. She felt the presence again, warmth growing in her and pressing into her mind. She listened, but only heard the gentle wind among the trees of the godswood over her right shoulder. With a glance, the pale moonlight was just enough to see the tallest branches of the weirwood tree rustle and sway. A dark shadow passed before the stars, high in the sky. Too high to hear. 

_ We’ll be traveling south _ . She willed to her winged child high above. _ Go south. Go to Dragonstone. _ The heat swelled in her for just a moment and the shadow passed from sight.  _ It will be warmer in the south. _

Many moments passed, the sound of trees rustling in the wind crescendoed and waned, again and again, lulling her mind, yet it stirred again. She thought of the man who confronted her in the yard, and of seeing Jon’s ire raise for just a moment and the whispers and mumblings of those gathered in the hall. She knew staying in Winterfell would be untenable, fearing that her presence would at best be tolerated. And their children. What life could their children have? Her resolve was steeled. 

She thought of their task, of its possible outcome. Memories from her childhood, of how she and Viserys would imagine how their lives would have been if their father had not been murdered, returned to her. Growing up in the Red Keep, educated by maesters and septons. Viserys would have been trained by knights and Daenerys by ladies and septas. They would have been safe. And now? Her mind shifted to her first time at Winterfell and how her dreams, her  _ destiny _ had unraveled. How Sansa opposed her from the moment they met. How Sam and Bran pieced together the clues of Jon’s identity, and how Jon had struggled to understand what it meant and how he withdrew from her. The thought brought back the pain she felt as her world was falling apart.  _ Destiny  _ she thought,  _ I was wrong about what my destiny was. It was with Jon. It has always been with him, it always will be.  _

Her thoughts continued unabated - What would happen if they had never learned of Jon’s true birth? The fiery passion between them would not have smoldered and faded. Jon’s confidence would not flag in the face of lords and ladies. Together, they would be strong. And what if none else knew? 

They would defeat the Night King and his army of dead things. They would destroy Euron Greyjoy’s fleet and drive Cersei Lannister from the throne of their ancestors. Anger wouldn’t fuel Daenerys, fear would not cloud her heart. Love would drive her. Love for her people, for Jon, for their daughter and for the children that were surely to follow. The realm would come to love her, and  _ him _ . Patience would prevail, she told herself. 

“Dany,” Jon’s soft voice came from behind her. Lost in her thoughts and the beauty of the night sky awash in a sea of stars, she hadn’t noticed the door or the footsteps. Knowing it was Jon was a relief. He stepped to her side and looked up to the night sky with her. “Are you well?” he asked.

“My mind was not at ease… I came out here to think.” 

“And what have you thought?” he playfully inquired. 

She continued to gaze skyward. “We can’t stay here. There are those who resent me, resent my presence here. I don’t think it would be safe,” she turned to him and met his eyes, “not for our children.” 

“Aye… Children?” he caught the word after a moment. “Do you know something I don’t?” he said, raising a brow, pulling her close to him. 

She responded with a quiet giggle, “no, not… I don’t think I’m... “ she paused, looking up at him. His smile was warm, as was his body. She took the edges of the cloak he had pinned about his shoulders and wrapped herself in it, turning to face the same way… north. 

“It’s getting colder,” she lamented. He agreed and wrapped his arms around her. “I was thinking about how, when I was a child, Viserys and I would sometimes imagine what our lives would have been like had our father not… been mad. Perhaps we would have grown up in the Red Keep. Rhaegar would have been king one day. Perhaps there would have been peace… I hope we will have peace when we do what Kinvara has shown us.” 

“Aye, I hope that as well. I’ve no desire for war, or any more death. I hope I’ve seen the last man die at my hand…” he trailed off for a moment. “In the yard down there,” he nodded to his right, closer to the godswood, “as boys, Robb and I would play at swords. We would proclaim ourselves great knights of old, battling evil and saving maidens in distress. ‘I’m Aemon the Dragonknight’ I’d proclaim. ‘I’m Florian the Fool!’ Robb would reply, then ‘I’m ser Ryam Redwyne!’ I’d say.” Then he paused for a moment. “One morning in our play, I proclaimed ‘I’m Lord of Winterfell!’, but Robb only stopped and reminded me that I was bastard born, his lady mother made sure he knew, and I would never be Lord of Winterfell…” 

Daenerys squeezed his hand. “You’re more than that… so much more, you know that” she intoned quietly. 

“I do. I  _ have  _ so much more as well,” he said and kissed her head. After a moment, he continued, “Theon would spar with us as well. He was a little older, a little taller. Good with a sword, and deadly with a bow.” 

“What was he like, then? I only had occasion to meet him briefly. He seemed… he was a broken man.” 

“Aye, Ramsey Bolton visited horrors upon him. Theon before was… he was bold, cocksure. He liked to remind us he was older and of his noble birth, but he always respected Lord Eddard. He took to frequenting the brothel in Wintertown. He’d boast of it when it was only us boys, Robb and I being close to men grown.” 

“But you never…” she inquired.

“No. Never,” Jon responded solemnly. 

“Not even once?” she asked teasingly, turning her head toward him. 

“Almost…” 

“Almost? Do tell, Jon,” she playfully prodded him. 

“If you must know…” Jon sighed dramatically and continued. “Theon took me into Wintertown under some pretense, I don’t recall. He took me to the brothel and into one of the rooms. He tossed the girl a coin and told her to be gentle with me.” This drew a bit of a chuckle from Daenerys. “I… I couldn’t do it. I  _ wanted  _ to. She  _ was _ a pretty young girl, but I couldn’t do it. I could only think, ‘what if I got a bastard on her?’ I didn’t want another child to live with that…” he trailed off. 

Daenerys’ eyes widened…  _ he didn’t want a bastard child…  _ “Jon… Lyanna?” 

“I love her no less, don’t mistake me,” he replied.

“I know, but... “ she thought for a moment. She turned toward him under his cloak. “We should marry.” His brow raised as his eyes met hers. 

He held her eyes with his, and a smile started to form on his lips. “Is it what you want?” he asked. 

“I do,” she returned his expression, “we are meant to be together, Jon. We’re bound by blood and destiny. Lyanna is evidence of that.” Jon leaned his head down toward hers and met her lips with his in a gentle kiss. 

“Then I will take you to wife, Daenerys, if you will have me.” 

“I will have you, Jon. I will have you.” She pulled him close and kissed him deeply. The wind picked up, and the sound of rustling leaves from the godswood swelled, but the two scarce took notice. For long moments the embrace lasted, neither wanting to retreat from it. 

Their kiss broke slowly, hesitantly. “When should we do this?” he asked. 

“Soon. Before we depart? We could ask Sam to marry us. Do you think he knows the rites?” 

“I’m sure he can find the traditions in one of the books in the library. The Northern rite of marriage is quite simple, though. It’s but a few words in sight of gods and men…” 

“Love and a few simple promises are all I need,” she replied sweetly.

Daenerys felt the chill and shuddered in his arms. She turned to face north with him, still wrapped in his cloak, and his arms. Their eyes climbed to the sky where a curtain of dark clouds was quickly closing off sight to the stars in the sky beyond. Moments later, something fluttered down toward them, then another, and another. Large, puffy snowflakes drifted quickly across the sky above them, toward them, past them. 

“Winter is coming. I can smell it on the wind,” Jon stated. 

* * *

“I’ve something for you, uh… lady Daenerys,” Sam stuttered a bit as he stood at the door, holding a jar with a cork stopper.

Daenerys raised her brow questioningly and motioned Sam into the room.

“It’s the… it’s… well… for your hair. It’ll make... It’ll darken it. Brown like Gilly’s, I think.” 

“You think?” Daenerys asked playfully, drawing Jon’s disapproving frown. After a moment, they chuckled together and Sam understood the jape.

“Oh ha,” Sam said flatly, shaking his head. “I’m sure it will work fine. The components were easy enough to find.” He handed the jar to Daenerys. She proceeded to gingerly twist the cork plug to smell the concoction within. “It’s powdery stuff, you take about a handful and mix it with warm water. Warm works best… until it’s like mud. Rub it into your hair and leave it until it’s almost dry and then rinse it out with warm water. It should last a few weeks, but washing with lye soap will run it out faster if need be. You’ll want to keep it handy, as your hair grows, it will be the natural color on your head.” 

Daenerys listened with amused intent, then nodded with a smile to Sam. “Thank you, Sam. I’m sure it will work perfectly. I… we do appreciate your help.” 

“We have something more to ask,” Jon started. “Before you head south back to King’s Landing.” He paused a moment as Daenerys set the jar down on the table at the side of the room then stepped to Jon’s side.

“We’d like you to marry us,” Daenerys stated. 

“M m marry you? I’m... I’m not sure I… I don’t even… “ Sam stuttered.

“Sam, you’ll do fine. The Northern tradition is quite simple. It’s just a few words in front of the heart tree. I’m sure it’s written about somewhere in some dusty old book in that library you love so much.” Jon concluded. 

“Oh, I’m sure of it. I know I’ve seen it somewhere. I’ll have to find it again. When would you want to do this? We’re leaving Winterfell in naught but a few more days,” Sam inquired. 

“On the morrow in the evening?” Jon proposed. “I’ll talk to Sansa about it after we break our fast. It need not be an ordeal. Just the few of us, aye?” 

“Well, then, I’ll find the rites and prepare!” Sam turned to leave their chambers, but turned at the last step to say, “after we break our fast… I am right proper hungry!” 

When they had finished their meal in the great hall, Jon sat next to Sansa and told her of the plan. “Marry?” she asked, somewhat surprised. 

“Aye, the way we should be. It’ll be right in the eyes of the gods, and to our friends and family. I would like you to be there.” 

Sansa smiled at that and nodded to Daenerys. “You haven’t a proper dress, have you?” she asked. 

Daenerys hadn’t brought much with her from Essos, certainly not a dress to wed in. “No,” she looked to Jon, “I guess I don’t.” 

“Come with me, then, we will find you something proper.” Sansa rose from her chair and motioned her guards away. Jon smiled and nodded to her as she rose to follow Sansa. 

“This is something I would have never expected,” Sansa started as they walked through the hall to the stairs of the great keep, up toward Sansa’s chamber and solar. 

“What is that?” Daenerys asked.

“Jon. Married. When we were younger, before we all left Winterfell, he was… somewhat sullen. Even though he had family, he still seemed alone. My lady mother was never very kind to him. I regret that I learned that from her. I was unkind to Jon many times when we were young, but I think we all changed. We’ve all grown. I love Jon as a brother - as I should have always loved him.” She took Daenerys’ hand as they walked up the last steps leading to her solar. “I want Jon to be happy, and he has that with you, and with your daughter.” 

“Thank you,” Daenerys replied. “I want to make him happy. I am thankful for your blessing.” They shared a smile. 

They passed through the solar and to the lord’s chambers. Sansa went to a tall wardrobe against the wall and opened it. She lamented that pink wasn’t her color, or Daenerys’... other dresses were too ornate, too dark, too grey. Sansa moved to a large chest next to the wardrobe and dug through folded garments piled deeply. Nothing satisfied her. Daenerys stood close, watching Sansa search the chest. Everything was too plain or too dull or drab. With a sigh, Sansa called for her guard to go down to a chamber on the level below and fetch another chest. Not long afterward, the guard and another huffed and puffed as they carried the heavy chest into her chambers. 

“It has to be here… “ Sansa huffed, exasperated. “There was a dress mother had made for what would have been my fourteenth name day celebration… white ivory. I never go to...  _ Here  _ it is!” She stood, removing the garment from the chest. Holding it up, Daenerys could see it - an ivory-colored silken bodice trimmed with grey, slashed sleeves with grey material under, dark beading along the waist and a split skirt of ivory silk with a grey lining.  _ It is beautiful!  _ She thought to herself. Surely Jon would like this on her. 

“It’s like to be a little… tall. I was a tall girl, even when I was a maid. We can mend that, though. You do know to stitch?” Sansa asked.

“Yes, I learned while I was in Volantis… after I…” She trailed off. Sansa picked up on her meaning and continued.

“Well, put it on, and we’ll see what must needs be done.” 

Sansa called for wine, and the pair spent the day working at pace on the dress. In short order, they were speaking like old friends, laughing and sharing light-hearted stories eased on by a steady refill of wine glasses. By evenfall, the dress fit Daenerys as if it had been made for her. Sansa insisted on a few changes - red silk added along the open front of the outer layer of the skirt, with red and black silks added to the cut sleeves. “The Targaryen colors,” Sansa insisted the family be represented.  _ I wish we had gotten on like this the first time I came to Winterfell… almost as close as sisters…  _ They would be good sisters soon, or near enough.  _ If only Missandei could be here…  _ she missed her dearest friend and advisor, but somehow the day with Sansa seemed much like they were friends sharing something important. This felt different, her apprehensions about the Queen in the North faded as did the hours - and glasses of wine. 

After evenfall, she and Sansa returned to the great hall to sup. Jon, Sam, Gilley and the children soon joined them, followed by Ghost. Tormund made his entrance already having a horn of mead in hand. Maester Wolkan sat on Sansa’s other side, appearing a bit disapproving of the queen’s current state. Daenerys told Jon of the dress they had chosen and altered, but not with any detail. “You’ll have to wait to see it until the morrow. I think you’ll like it, though,” she teased, giggling. 

“I see you’re in your cups. I take it the day was good?” he asked with a sarcastic frown.

“Oh, it was,” she leaned closer to Jon, clumsily taking his hand. “But this night will be even better,” she whispered into his ear. They both knowingly smiled as she rested her head on his shoulder. They supped and bantered and more wine was had. Tormund raised a toast to the betrothed and drank deeply, only to raise the same toast again later having forgotten in his inebriation that he already had. Jon drank sparingly, but Daenerys and Sansa both seemed to have no such reservation. Sam never drank much, nor Gilly as she did not favor the taste of wine. 

Daenerys implored Gilly to watch over the children, as she and Jon “needed to talk about important matters” this night. Gilly gave a knowing smile and nodded.  _ That one sees and knows more than she lets on…  _ She gave her thanks and took Jon’s hand, leading him to their chambers. 

Jon had barely closed the door and turned toward her before she pulled him close and pressed her lips against his. She kissed him desperately, deeply, pulling him toward the bed. Their hands hurried all over each other, loosening belts, removing clothes and casting them aside. Jon picked her up by her thighs and lowered her to the bed, kissing her gently down her neck, her chest… then he stepped back and stood, his hands working to remove his boots. Daenerys smiled, sighed happily and laid her head back and closed her eyes… 

When she woke, her head throbbed with a dull ache. The light streaming in from the gaps in the window boards hurt her eyes, and moving did not remedy the situation. 

“Good morning, love,” she heard Jon say quietly. She felt his warm hand caress her cheek as she grimaced from the ache in her head. “A little too much wine, then, eh?” he teased. 

She grumbled in response. “Did I? Did we... “ she sheepishly asked. 

“No, you fell to sleep the moment you closed your eyes. I couldn’t find it in me to wake you.” 

“I’m sorry, Jon. I didn’t mean…” 

“It’s alright, love. Tonight. Just… go easier on the wine,” he said before he kissed her forehead. 

“I will, I promise.” 

“Aye, I’ll find the maester, see if he has something that can help with the bottle-ache.”

“ _ Avy jorrāelan”  _ she replied quietly as she heard Jon don his clothes and leave the room. She kept her eyes closed, trying to will the dull throbbing away. Long moments, minutes, maybe more, passed before she heard Jon return. He brought a foul-tasting brew and a flagon of cool water, helped her sit up and drink both. They sat quietly in bed as the throbbing in her head slowly faded. 

Some time later a knock at the door brought her to open her eyes. The ache in her head had subsided, though her mouth was unpleasantly dry. Jon rose to answer the door and found Sansa waiting at the threshold. 

“The bride needs to prepare,” she declared as Jon stepped aside and bid her enter. “I hope all is well?” She asked, seeing Daenerys disheveled and still in bed. Jon approached, stopping to pick her gown up off of the fur rug at the foot of the bed. He held it up so that she could stand behind it and compose herself, and then slip into the gown again. Jon gathered her hair up as she laced up the bodice. She turned to kiss him and then fetch her boots, then walked after Sansa as she left their chambers.

Pausing at the door, she turned and said, “I’ll see you before evenfall, and then I will be your wife.” Jon’s smile belied how much the thought pleased him.

“Make sure she drinks.  _ WATER _ , not wine!” Jon called as they walked away from their chambers. 

Sansa led her to the baths first, where she cleaned herself with sweet-scented soaps the Queen in the North provided. A little finery she would indulge in from time to time. She mentioned to Daenerys how it should please Jon to have her smelling sweet and clean on their first night, to whit Daenerys japed that this would be far from their first night. 

Afterward, they returned to the lord’s chambers where Sansa and her ladies-in-waiting helped Daenerys into her ivory dress and braided her hair. Daenerys showed them a few new tricks that she had learned from Missandei, remembering the intricate braids her friend and advisor would spin with her long silver hair.  _ How I wish she were here for this day…  _

When the time came, Daenerys was clean, dressed and ready, though the pit of her stomach felt aflutter. It felt to her like that night on her ship  _ Balerion _ when Jon had knocked on her cabin door - when they had first come together and their love ignited. It should be a simple thing, to wed the man she loved, the father of her child, the miracle she never thought possible, yet it still brought that feeling. 

Sam, Jon, and Sansa stood near the trunk of the ancient weirwood at the center of the godswood, while Gilly and her boys, little Sam and little Jon stood by impatiently. Ghost stood near Lyanna, watching everything intently. 

At the arched entrance to the godswood, she stepped forward, Tormund at her side as her escort. He made remark about how Jon was a lucky man, to whit she smiled and blushed. Wrapped in a long dark cloak, her loosely braided silver hair spilling over it. Her eyes met with Jon’s as she walked closer, her heart beating intensely in her chest. She stopped a mere step short, unclasped her cloak and swung it off of her shoulders, handing it to Tormund who stepped aside. 

Jon wore a dark green tunic with a dark leather doublet over it, his hair pulled back and his beard neatly trimmed. Dark wool trousers and boots that look to have been polished by someone who didn’t know how to polish boots well.  _ Likely his own work _ she giggled for a moment as she looked him over. It may have been the most handsome he had ever appeared to her. 

He near gasped as he looked her over. She felt more beautiful at that moment than she ever had before. Jon’s eyes betrayed that he was more than pleased.

“Who comes before the gods in this sacred wood?” Sam asked, after clearing his throat. Daenerys walked forward, her eyes and Jon’s locked and unwavering. 

“Daenerys Stormborn, of House Targaryen. She comes to beg the blessings of the gods and to be wed,” responded Daenerys. 

“Who claims her?” Sam challenged. 

“I, Jon Snow, adopted son of Eddard Stark, trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. I claim her,” Jon spoke proudly. 

After a moment’s pause, Jon nudged Sam with his elbow. “Oh, err… Who gives her?” Sam asked. 

“She gives herself freely,” Daenerys declared, as she stepped close to Jon. 

“Daenerys Targaryen, will you take this man?” 

“I take this man, willingly,” she said, looking up into Jon’s eyes, glistening with tears about to fall. The two joined hands and knelt before the tree, bowing their heads. After a moment, they rose. Jon unclasped his cloak, grey and lined with wolf’s fur and brought it about Daenerys’ shoulders, signifying their union. They joined hands and met with a slow, tender kiss. 

“Well, I guess… I guess that’s it then?” Sam muttered. “You’re married now. Man and wife and all that.” 

“Thank you, Sam,” Daenerys responded with a kind smile to Sam, who smiled broadly at his best friend and his new bride. 

That eve, they feasted and celebrated, but Daenerys wisely drank her wine sparingly. Tonight was a night she did not want to miss, nor forget. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope George isn't finding writing as difficult as I am during this isolation stuff! Inspiration comes and goes, that's for sure. It comes in spurts. I'm also fortunate enough to be able to work from home. I recently finished reading the book series, and I'm eager and excited about what comes next. I have in mind to maybe go back through my first few chapters here and make some edits. Nothing structurally or story-wise, just change some phrasing here and there. Maybe. I'm not sure I'll do anything like that anytime soon. 
> 
> The next few chapters in my story... might end up a little 'trudgy'. I haven't formulated any really interesting ideas for it, but it will still be stuff that we'll have to get through to get where this is going... where everyone's probably guessed - a reset. 
> 
> On that, though, I HAVE come up with some ideas. Oh, I've got some shit in store! This isn't going to just be a 'fixit'. There will be big changes, and I think it will be good. At least what I want to do with it seems like it will be good when I think through it in my head. It's still got holes and things I have to resolve, but I think it will be something most people will like. I know where/when the reset will be, I know basically who will know what and what state people will be in. I've got a twist in mind that I think should be satisfying to fans if I can write it well enough. I'm excited to get to those bits, but I've got to get through the next few chapters. I think 4ish chapters may get us to the 'event'. We'll see. I hope you'll stick around and enjoy the next few bits.


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